


Changeling

by Ciwu



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Kidnapping, Multi, inferred but nonexplicit dubcon, memory wipes, time skip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:44:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8398537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ciwu/pseuds/Ciwu
Summary: Changeling - A term typically used to describe a fairy left behind in place of a human child that has been stolen by the Fey. May also refer to the stolen child themselves. The child may be taken for many reasons, such as malice, to act as a servant, or out of some misplaced love.

A story of what was taken and those left behind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whoo, okay so this has been percolating ever since the Feywild arc ended. I don't typically write a lot of multichaptered fics because I get distracted in the middle of them and I know there's nothing worse than an unfinished fic. This fic isn't finished yet but I have it fully outlined and I know where it's going and I'm mostly done with chapter 2 so I'm gonna go ahead and start putting it out there.
> 
> Also, if you're a huge fan of Artagan - hey, so am I! But the thing about Fey is that they're a little uh... up and down. I promise he's not a sneering, mustache twirling villain, but don't be surprised if he's not all sunshine and roses either.

It’s been twenty five years since the last time Vax was in the Feywild and he isn’t enjoying himself anymore than he did last time.

He’s stalking through the hallways of an ancient palace crafted out of a grove of trees. The palace is sprawling, all entirely one floor. Said floor is made of wood but it isn’t cut into distinct planks - rather it’s all a single living piece of wood, as though it were one great tree spilled onto its side.

Or perhaps it’s Vax who is tilted onto his side. In the Feywild, it’s hard to tell. And in an Archfey’s palace, it’s even harder. This place is magic in the purest sense of the word. Vax has never been especially sensitive to the arcane, but even he can feel it crackling through the air like electricity. He ignores it, however.

Vax is looking for someone.

He doesn’t know who it is he’s looking for - his Queen has sent him on a mission to find someone she referred to as, _'only recently uncovered from my sight.'_ His Queen is often vague, in the manner of deities. As though the world would fall apart if they gave you clear instructions. But Vax has spent half his life in service to his Queen and he is accustomed to reading between the lines.

Someone in the palace is trying to cheat death.

Strange to find them in the Feywild, in the court of an Archfey, but then it does take powerful magic to slip the binds of fate. An Archfey could do it - for a steep price. Living forever at the cost of eternal servitude? Vax has found peace in obedience but he’ll be released one day in death and while he cannot say he’s looking forward to it, he can at least say he finds the idea comforting.

And anyway, servitude to an Archfey would be a different beast entirely. Vax knows this particular Archfey, and even considering that he’s one of the better ones out of the bunch, he’s still… Well. There’s a reason Vax has not asked permission to be here. Vax isn’t so foolish as to believe that Artagan isn’t well aware of his presence, but he’s made no effort to stop him, so it must be -

Vax comes to a halt abruptly in the middle of the hallway. Artagan has made no _obvious_ effort to stop him, but the hallways are starting to look increasingly familiar. Vax has been walking a perfectly straight line, and somehow he’s gone in a circle.

Vax glances around irritably. He’s passed plenty of branching hallways and rooms that he ignored so as to avoid becoming lost. But Vax has not only come full circle, he hasn’t passed a single soul in the palace. An Archfey’s court should be full of lesser fey to bow and scrape to his ego. If this is an ambush, it’s a pointless one. Vax isn’t capable of taking Artagan in a fight and his Queen never intended him to.

He starts forward again, more slowly this time. The wood floor is still solid under his feet and this time he keeps track of notches and slight dips in the wood. The cost of a living palace is that the floors and walls are not perfectly flat planes and it’s easy to pick out distinctions in an otherwise empty hallway. If Artagan wants to play a game, then fine. But Vax has become rather better at these games since the last time they met.

Vax passes four side paths and three rooms before he loops back to where he started. Two of the rooms are magically sealed and no amount of talent with a set of lockpicks will get Vax past a warding spell, so he passes them by. The third room is a bathroom, because Artagan is an asshole.

The first side path contains nothing. It’s a long and crooked hallway that makes Vax lose sight of the original hall, but it ends in only a window. There is not a single door anywhere along its length. The window overlooks a majestic garden and the entrance to a hedge maze that Vax would rather cut his own throat than enter.

He returns to the main hallway and expects to find it changed in some way but if it has, Vax can’t discern how. Not for the first time, Vax wishes he had more of a talent for magic. Nearly everyone that Vax hunts down in service of his Queen is a magic user or else has acquired some sort of magical item to prolong their lives. But Vax has just never had a head for the arcane and while he’s become quite skilled at _killing_ magic users, he still doesn’t usually grasp what it is they’re _doing_. He doesn’t know how much magical training he’d need to understand what an Archfey was doing, but he suspects neither he nor anyone else has the lifespan for it.

The second side path has two rooms in it, both locked but not magically so. One of the doors leads into a small, dimly lit kitchen. There are no servants in it but it appears recently used, going by the lingering scent of roasting meat. A small unlocked door in the kitchen opens into a larder with nothing of any note inside it. The second door in the hallway also leads into the same larder, despite the fact that the larder has only the one door.

Vax fucking hates the Feywild.

He returns to the main hallway again and this time, just for a split second, he catches a flash of white heading down the fourth side path.

A quarter of a century on and Vax has, to a certain extent, learned to control his impatience. But in this ridiculous Archfey palace, Vax just wants to be done with his mission and he finds himself chasing after the movement without even a glance down the third path.

Vax darts around the corner into the hallway just in time to see the door at the end of the hall close with a soft click. He takes a cursory glance over the hall and notes that this one is lined with doors, but Vax only has eyes for the one. He darts to the end of the hall, silent and soft footed. He reaches for the door handle and pauses. There is a creeping sensation crawling up his spine.

It’s not a magical sensation, not really. It’s a more of a feeling deep inside of him, honed from years of adventuring and even more years of working as the champion of a deity. He will not like what is behind this door. Vax knows it in his bones.

But whether trap or monster or Artagan himself, Vax’ildan, Champion of the Raven Queen, was given a duty and he _will_ fulfill it.

He turns the handle slowly and is pleased that it does not creak or squeal. He doesn’t see any obvious traps nor sense any magical ones, but Vax has been wrong before and every muscle in his body is coiled like a spring, prepared to leap out of the way of any incoming danger.

The door glides open without a hint of noise and at first glance, there is no one in the room.

It’s a bedroom, in fact. A very well lived in one with the bed sheets turned down and little items scattered about. There are books haphazardly strewn across desks and nightstands, clothes draped over the backs of chairs, a writing desk with an abundance of quills, ink, and charcoal, as well as what appears from a distance to be sketchbooks.

It's the writing desk that draws his attention as also sitting on it is a small, fist-sized, intricately carved statue of a roaring bear in armor. The statue isn’t finished yet - its lower body and paws are much less detailed than the rest of it - but the armor is hauntingly familiar. His sister isn’t the only ranger to ever tame a bear and she isn’t even the first to outfit one with armor. But this armor is designed with a curve and interlocking plates that Vax knows from experience would allow the wearer to turn into an eight hundred pound wrecking ball of teeth and claws.

“Are you lost?”

Vax jerks and curses. He had been drawn to the statue like a moth to flame and now he’ll pay the price for it. His hands drop to the knives on his belt as he turns around, prepared to try and talk his way out of this if he can but also prepared for his Queen to tell him that this is his target.

What he isn’t prepared for is to come face to face with Percival de Rolo.

Fucking Artagan.

Percy looks much the same as he did the last time Vax saw him, which is how he knows he’s a fake (nevermind the - the other reasons). Soft white hair and a clean shaven face, blue eyes framed by gold rimmed glasses, the same fancy but practical clothing that he used to wear under his greatcoat - he looks precisely the way Percy did in the prime of his life. “You’re a fucking asshole,” Vax snarls, hands tightening around the hilts of his daggers.

A single dark eyebrow (in contrast to the white hair on his head, hell but Artagan did pay attention, didn’t he?) shoots upwards and the polite smile that the fake Percy was wearing drops off in favor of a disdainful stare. “I beg your pardon? You’re the one who invaded my bedroom.”

“Cut the shit, Artagan. Where’s the warlock?” Even knowing that it isn’t him, Vax finds himself struggling to make eye contact with Per - with the fake Percy. Percy was not a memory that Vax was keen to dredge up at the best of times, much less in the middle of an assignment.

“Ah,” he says, “I believe you’ve mistaken me for my Lord. My name is Percival.”

He holds his hand out in greeting and Vax has to clench his jaw so tightly that it aches to prevent himself from screaming at an Archfey. _How dare you, how dare you, how dare you,_ he wants to howl. Instead Vax prays for patience and a sign of what he is meant to do here.

He is not expecting the phantom brush of feathers across his ear and a whispered, _'It is him.'_

Vax lets out a shuddered breath. Perhaps it isn’t Artagan then. Perhaps it is the warlock himself, masquerading in a guise that he thinks Vax would hesitate to strike him in. As quietly as he can, Vax murmurs, “He’s the target?”

_'Yes, but it is also him.'_

What? What does that mean? He’s the one but he is also the one?

The fake Percy seems to have realized that Vax isn’t going to shake his hand so he retracts it with a frown. He stands up straighter and crosses his arms behind his back in the spitting image of the young lordling that Vax used to know.

This is not a story he will be able to tell Vex when he returns.

“At any rate, I’m afraid I must ask you to leave, seeing as we are in my bedroom. I’d be happy to discuss things elsewhere or take you to Lord Artagan.”

Fake Percy is the very picture of geniality masking annoyance. It was a look Vax had been well accustomed to seeing on the real Percy and Vax’s frustration at this mimicry boils even higher at the sheer accuracy of it.

Before Vax can do anything though, Artagan appears in the doorway so abruptly that it was impossible to say if he had teleported there or if he had simply always been there, hidden. “I don’t believe that will be necessary, my dear,” Artagan says, in his smooth, rich voice. Vax prefers him as harried, silly Garmelie over this form. It reminds him too much of the nobles in Syngorn - though he supposes that as an Archfey, Artagan is probably older than the lot of them combined. 

If Artagan notices Vax’s stormy look, he gives no indication of it. “Vax’ildan! It’s been quite some time, my friend. How are you?”

“Do you know why I’m here?” Vax demands impatiently. In his peripheral, he can see the fake Percy’s nose wrinkle at his rudeness.

Artagan doesn’t seem offended but then, Grog once chucked Artagan over six rivers without getting a reaction from him so who could say what bothered an Archfey? “Regrettably so. Perhaps our little jaunt down to the material plane was ill advised if it caught your goddess’ attention, but I’m a touch surprised that you of all people would care.”

Vax stares at him, disbelieving. “I’m the Champion of the Raven Queen, how could I not care?”

Artagan crosses over to the fake Percy in two long strides. He circles around behind him like a shark and Vax watches him run a hand up the fake Percy’s side like a lover’s caress until he reaches his temple. There’s a flicker of magic and the fake Percy’s eyes cloud over white. He sways slightly on his feet, but Artagan places a hand at the small of his back and keeps him upright until he regains his balance. 

His eyes stay blank and white, however.

“That’s better, isn’t it? I don’t really need him hearing this conversation,” Artagan says.

Vax hates to admit it, but this is not actually better. The fake Percy just looks like a puppet with his strings cut. The crawling sensation in his spine is all but screaming at him.

“I went to so much trouble to wipe his memories as it stands.”

_It is also him_ , his Queen had said.

Vax feels dizzy with sudden, breathtaking _rage._

Artagan rubs his thumb gently over the side of Percy’s neck. He gazes at Percy with a fond expression that makes Vax want to vomit.

“Now, what I meant was -”

“Did he come to you?” Vax interrupts. “For - for immortality?”

Artagan’s eyebrows quirk up. “Not at all. Why would he? He had everything he wanted with the lot of you.”

“Then how did he come to be here with _you?_ ” Vax’s voice is low and deadly, and Artagan cannot possible miss his anger, but the amusement on his face never fades.

“Do you know how uncommon it is for me to be outwitted? Oh, I had plenty of fun with your little gang on your way to kill poor broken-hearted Saundor, but Percival, ah, my dear Percival,” Artagan presses a kiss to the side of Percy’s head and Vax twitches hard in an aborted motion to stab him right in the goddamned throat. “He’s a rare thing, and I’m fond of rarities. I simply had to have him for my court.”

“You kidnapped him.”

“What an ugly turn of phrase. I waited, quite politely, I might add, until you were all done with that nasty dragon business. And then I approached him and told him he could either come with me or he could watch me kill everyone he loved.”

He says it so reasonably. Artagan is not Saundor, hissing and cruel in the dark and dripping with the proof of his blackened soul. Artagan is sunny and bright, smiling as though he isn’t hiding a set of shark’s teeth behind his facade. Vax doesn’t doubt even for a moment that Artagan _would_ have merrily butchered them all while still wearing that same friendly smile.

That’s the thing about fey, and Archfey in particular. They’re only your friend for as long as you’re useful or interesting to them. In a way, it’s a miracle that Percy is even still here with Artagan after twenty five years. But then, what was twenty five years for an Archfey? What was fifty or one hundred? But Artagan would grow bored with him eventually and his extended lifespan would be no gift then. And looking at Percy, standing there limp and blank - was it even a gift now?

“I think perhaps you should go home, Vax’ildan. There’s nothing for you here.” Artagan’s voice is layered with magic and Vax can feel the Suggestion wash over him but it doesn’t manage to take hold.

Nevertheless…

Vax takes one last look at Percy’s white eyes and takes his leave with a sharp nod. He doesn’t think Artagan buys it, but he is allowed to leave without incident.

He waits until he is entirely out of the Feywild, deposited in a forest not far from Vasselheim, to pull the bear statue out of his pocket. He rubs his thumb over the armor where it’s been sanded smooth.

Vax has some people to talk to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't really promise a set update schedule for this because my work hours are weird and busy, even through the holidays. I'm trying though guys, don't worry!

In the decades since Vox Machina had split up, they'd made sure that no matter how far away they got from one another, they always had a way to quickly get in contact in the event of an emergency. And they had gotten _very_ far away from one another.

Pike and Grog had gone back to Westruun to aid in the rebuilding effort. Scanlan had gone with them for a time, but his wandering feet got the better of him and found him taking up again with Dr. Dranzel and Kaylee. Keyleth had gone back to her people – a little older, a little wiser, and a lot more jaded. Vax based himself out of Vasselheim, for the most part. The temple to the Raven Queen was there, so he could hardly be anywhere else. He rarely stayed in one place for long though, with plenty of targets and assignments to keep him on the move.

Vex, of course, had stayed in Whitestone. The only place her heart had ever called home.

She had tried not to, in the beginning. There was nowhere in the entire city she could look without seeing Percy and the pain was overwhelming. She'd wandered the roads and woods for most of a year. But every time she stopped paying attention to where she was going, she found herself angling northwards. Even Trinket was reticent and grouchy when they traveled in any direction other than towards Whitestone.

Eventually she had realized that it was pointless to deny it. Whitestone had meant so much to Percy – his history, his family, his legacy – and he had invited her to be a part of it. Who was she to refuse to take care of this gift just because he was no longer there to share in it with her? Whitestone needed a protector and if Percy couldn't do it, then Vex would. She owed him that much at least.

Cassandra's relief at her return had been palpable, especially on someone who was usually better at hiding her emotions. Vex had immediately felt a surge of guilt at abandoning a teenager who had just lost the last of her family and was expected to take charge of a city that was now the largest remaining power on the continent. _Never again_ , she promised herself, and she hadn't left the city for longer than a day's hunting trip since then.

Which wasn't to say that she didn't keep in contact with her family. They all had thick, leather bound journals that Gilmore had enchanted for each of them (well, Pike and Grog shared one, for obvious reasons). Anything written in one of the journals would appear in all of the others. There was no way to erase anything written in them, so there were more than a few sad and drunk messages that they had left each other over the years when the loneliness got to be a bit too much. For the most part though, the books were full of stories about their days, things they had seen that had made them think of someone else, and plans to meet up if they were going to be near one another.

And every year at Winter's Crest, when the books were starting to run out of empty pages, they would all meet again in Whitestone and Gilmore would have new ones waiting for them. He would always deny payment for them, saying that it was the least he could do for them after everything, and they would always find new and innovative ways each year to hide gold for him somewhere in the shop. Vex had managed to tie a few gold pieces to ribbons last year and weave them into his hair when he wasn't looking. She had been pretty proud of that.

When they'd first separated, Vex had kept the journal on her at all times and had checked it compulsively every time she had a spare moment, and she knew the others had done the same. Nowadays, she only checks it in the mornings and the evenings and the journal is otherwise left in her bedroom in the manor. It's because of this that Vex has little warning for Keyleth abruptly stepping out of the Sun Tree some time in the mid afternoon.

Vex isn't even in the town square when it happens. She's a few streets over, heading to the castle for lunch with Cassandra when she hears the surprised shouting. A few paces ahead of her, Trinket stops in his tracks and turns his head towards the sound with a growl. The giggling children on his back go suddenly quiet and slide off him, hiding behind his flank. Vex considers where she is in relation to the noise and the layout of the city and decides that her best course of action is to scale the house next to her and get a better vantage point.

She runs straight up the side of the wall, catches an upper story windowsill, and hauls herself to the roof with only the slightest, almost imperceptible slip. Her coat billows out behind her dramatically, drawing awed noises from the children down below, and Vex can't help the smirk that crosses her face. She's willing to admit she's out of practice, but it seems she's still got it. She ignores the way she's more out of breath than she ought to be once she's perched on the roof. Instead, she scans the area for the source of the noise.

What she sees is an eagle flying upwards out of the square and heading in the general direction of the castle.

Alright. So it _could_ be an eagle that fell out of the sky, startled a few people, and is now making its shameful escape. But Vex doesn't believe in coincidence and to be honest, it’s an awfully familiar looking eagle.

Vex cups her hands around her mouth and shouts, “Keyleth!”

The eagle jerks to an abrupt and less than graceful stop mid-air, then has to flap furiously to keep itself hovering. After a moment of glancing around, it banks back around towards Vex. It fumbles a landing next to Vex and, with a pop, Keyleth is standing in its place, sliding awkwardly on the sloped roof. Her messy hair and disheveled clothing give the distinct impression of someone who has only just woken up.

“Darling, are you alright?” Vex asks, concerned. “What's wrong?”

“I – I don't know,” Keyleth says between pants, very much out of breath. “I thought you might. Where's Vax?”

Ice floods down Vex's spine. “He's not here, Keyleth. I haven't seen him in months. He's usually in Vasselheim if he isn't – working,” she says carefully.

Keyleth doesn't react at all to mention of Vax's duties as Champion, which says a lot to Vex about how concerned she is. She reaches into the satchel at her side where Vex knows she keeps both her journal and her own notebooks. Keyleth pulls out the journal, pages through to the most recent entry, and turns it around for Vex to see.

Writ large in her brother's blocky handwriting is “WHITESTONE NOW – EMERGENCY.” Beneath that is a quick scrawl in Scanlan's handwriting that says “fuck i'm in kymal, gotta get back to westruun for a teleport, give me a few hours???” Then her brother's words again, just reading, “ASAP.”

“Shit,” Vex says weakly. “Okay. Alright. If Vax is here, I haven't seen him. But he'd head to the castle and so will everyone else, just like you did. Fly ahead and see if he's already arrived. Trinket and I will meet you there.”

Keyleth nods and stands up, preparing to turn back into an eagle. Before she can however, Vex grabs her arm.

“And darling, do relax a bit? If he was in immediate danger, he would have asked us to meet him wherever he was, not here.”

Keyleth stares at her for a moment, then takes a deep breath and scrubs a hand over her face. “Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I'll just, uhm. I'll try to calm down.”

Vex releases her and lets her shift back into eagle form. She takes off from the roof with more grace than she’d landed with but Vex doesn't wait to watch her fly. Instead, she drops down off the roof and lands with a slight wince. The kids are still watching her with wide eyes, but Vex doesn't have time for them, unfortunately.

Vex whistles for Trinket and says, “Sorry kids, another time. C'mon, Trinket, your uncle's done something stupid, I'm sure of it.”

~

Regrettably, whatever stupid thing Vax had done, he didn’t appear to be anywhere in the castle. Even Trinket snuffling about didn’t result in any caught scent. Vex leaves Keyleth waiting in the former war room, biting her nails and staring at her open journal (which now also had Pike’s neat handwriting reading “We’re working on arranging a teleport but it’s taking so long that we might as well wait for Scanlan,” and Scanlan’s hurried, “almost there, ur the best, babe,”) as though Vax would pause long enough to write down whatever the emergency was when he was clearly in a hurry.

Vex has little doubt that her brother is relatively safe. If he was in true danger, he wouldn’t have found time to write to them, or he would have written a melodramatic goodbye, which he had done exactly once and which none of them had forgiven him for.

What worries Vex is that Vax has a dubious definition of what constitutes an emergency. She’s found him bleeding out before and listened to him wave it off as nothing important. It’s not that he underestimates enemies or doesn’t understand when he’s in danger, it’s that he downplays them when speaking to anyone else, including Vex. For Vax to be calling something an emergency is... concerning, to say the least.

Vex has never been one to sit still when she’s worried so she roams the castle, dodging around servants and guards alike, until she finds herself outside the dining hall and suddenly remembers that she was meant to have lunch with Cassandra. She winces to herself and pushes the door open, ready with apologies.

Inside, however, she finds that Cassandra has not dined alone after all. Sitting next to her and chatting happily are Percival and Khavida, Cassandra’s teenage children. Khavida is the elder of the two, nearly out of her teens and starting to put on proper muscle from long hours spent in the training yard trying to impress Jarrett. Percival is fourteen and in the middle of a growth spurt that’s likely to have him up near his namesake's height soon. He’s skinny and gangly, and the single most gentle person Vex has ever known. Vex loves both of them dearly but sometimes it's hard to look at them and not see what she’s lost.

Vex dithers in the doorway for a moment, but as soon as he catches sight of Percival and Khavida, Trinket is muscling past her with a happy grunt.

“Well, well,” Cassandra says, glancing up at the sound. “Look who finally showed.”

Cassandra isn’t _that_ old for a human, though she has certainly aged more noticeably than Vex has. To no one’s surprise, her hair has already gone fully white and the tired lines on her face have become permanent. At least her children (and to a certain extent, her husband) have brought her some measure of happiness over the years. Vex doesn’t think there’s anyone who deserves it more than Cassandra de Rolo does.

“Hello, Auntie Vex,” Percival says dutifully before being distracted by Trinket shoving his muzzle into his lap. He’s in pursuit of scratches and the scraps of food that Percival won’t actually give him, because he’s a good boy who took Vex’s warnings about Trinket’s health very seriously.

“Hi, Aunt Vex,” says Khavida, both more and less formal than her little brother. She isn’t quite close enough to reach Trinket and Vex can see her resisting the urge to lean out of her chair in order to pet him.

Cassandra notices as well and shares a secretive smirk with Vex. Vex only manages to return a half smile and Cassandra’s eyebrows shoot upwards in concern. Vex gives a subtle shake of her head. There’s no point worrying Cassandra over something that Vex doesn’t even know herself yet. Cassandra frowns at her, but turns back to her children.

Trinket has determined that Percival is not going to break his promise to Vex about feeding him table scraps and has moved on to Khavida, who will absolutely break that promise the instant Vex isn’t looking her way. Like most teenagers, Khavida is convinced that she has more tricks up her sleeves the adults in her life, regardless of the fact that neither of Cassandra’s children had inherited her gift for stealthiness.

Khavida’s fingers are inching towards the honeyed biscuits on her plate and trying to avoid Vex’s stare when Keyleth’s voice murmurs in her ear, “Vex, I see wings on the other side of town.”

Vex forces herself not to flinch at the sudden sound. She only puts the earring on every morning out of habit - it’s gone unused for a very long time and it takes a moment for Vex to even realize that Keyleth is still several rooms away, not sneaking up on her.

When she manages to refocus, one of the biscuits on Khavida’s plate is gone and Percival is leveling a very disapproving stare in his sister’s direction, which she is studiously ignoring. Even if the two of them had an ounce of subtlety to them, the crumbs in Trinket’s fur would be a dead giveaway.

Vex sighs. 

Cassandra, who has only become more eagle eyed since becoming a mother, stares pointedly at the earring and says, “Will we be having guests this evening, Vex?”

“Hard to say, darling,” Vex deflects, too aware of the way Khavida and Percival have both perked up with interest. “I’ll meet you in the study in an hour or so with an update?”

What Vex doesn’t say is, _‘If something is wrong, I’ll fill you in, I promise.’_

“Of course,” Cassandra replies. “Just don’t forget that the servants will have to know if we're going to have guests for dinner.”

What Cassandra doesn’t say is, _‘You’d better, because if you try to leave me in the dark like you used to, I’ll sneak into your room in the middle of the night and shave you bald.’_

“Not to worry. If nothing else, Trinket will be sure to remind me.” Vex jerks her head towards the door and Trinket leaves the de Rolo children with a grumble and a mouthful of crumbs, Khavida’s plate mysteriously empty.

Vex does not say, _‘I’ll have Trinket chew on all of your ledgers if you try it, Cass.’_

Cass quirks a smile and Vex manages to smirk back at her. Khavida looks like she thinks she’s gotten away with something, and Percival’s brow is furrowed like he knows something went over his head, but he isn’t sure what.

Vex loves this family. But the other half of her family is calling.

Vex doesn’t rush back to the meeting room. If Vax is hurt, then Keyleth will fix it. If Grog, Pike, and Scanlan have arrived, someone will tell her over the earring. If they haven’t arrived, Vax won’t say shit because he hates telling a story twice.

Besides, if she leaves Vax and Keyleth alone in a room together, maybe they’ll actually talk to each other like normal people, instead of incredibly awkward exes who can’t figure out how to interact with one another after two decades.

Unfortunately, despite Vex’s leisurely and meandering walk through Whitestone Castle, when she reaches the meeting room, it still contains only Keyleth, who is chewing her nails bloody. Vex grabs her hands and pulls them away from her mouth. “I thought you said Vax was here?”

Keyleth frowns at her bloody fingers and folds them into her lap. “He is. He stopped near Gilmore’s shop a few minutes ago and hasn’t flown back up since. I guess since that’s where everyone else will be coming in through the teleportation circle, he’s waiting there.”

Vex frowns. There’s not much point in Vax waiting for them. It isn’t as though he can get them to the castle any faster. He could fly the gnomes, sure, but Grog would have to walk either way. And honestly, it isn’t that far to the castle from where Gilmore lives. Maybe a ten minute walk if you’re being leisurely, and Grog’s always been a fast runner if it came to that. Is Vax really so determined to avoid Keyleth, even in an emergency?

Trinket wanders over to the window and sits down in front of it, resting his arms on the sill and his head on his paws. Keyleth stares out the window over his head and her hands start drifting out of her lap and back up to her mouth. Vex resigns herself to waiting here and sits down across from Keyleth, grabbing her hands and pinning them to the table. Keyleth looks at her guiltily, then turns back to the window again.

It’s another twenty minutes of silence and nervously checking the journal for any updates before Scanlan’s scrawl appears again, saying “coming through in a min, u at the castle???”

Keyleth fumbles a piece of charcoal out of her satchel and responds with a simple, “Yes, old meeting room.”

Neither of them expect a response to that but a minute later, Vax writes, “Got them. Coming.”

Vex and Keyleth both relax, at least somewhat. It’s difficult to tell in writing, but Vax sounds less rushed and panicked than he had before. Still terse, granted, but Vax usually was when writing. Writing, especially writing in a journal where he couldn’t change what he wrote, forced Vax to actually consider what he was saying, rather than just saying whatever came to mind and hoping to eventually find a point somewhere in his word vomit.

They both keep their eyes to the sky, expecting to see a swirl of black feathers rising up over the rooftops, but it never comes. Instead, a few minutes later, Trinket perks up and lifts his head off his paws, ears flicking forward. Vex stands up to look over his head and coming up the pathway at a brisk pace are Vax, Grog, Pike, and Scanlan. Even from a distance, Vex can see how unhappy her brother looks.

Trinket roars in greeting and all four heads swivel up towards the window. The gnomes wave in greeting to Vex, and Grog roars right back at Trinket, but Vax glances up at the window and as soon as he catches sight of Vex, he jerks his gaze down to the ground in front of him.

Vex glances to her side, expecting to see Keyleth hovering over her shoulder.

But Keyleth is still sitting at the table, well out of sight and fiddling with the journal. She looks at Vex hopefully. “Are they here?”

...Is Vax avoiding _her?_

“Vex?”

She blinks rapidly and refocuses. “Yes?”

“Are they here?” Keyleth repeats, now concerned.

Vex pastes a smile on and if it comes across as fake to Keyleth, well, of course it does. They’ve both been sitting here worried for awhile now. “Yes, it’s them, darling. They should be up momentarily.”

Soon enough, the heavy door to the meeting room swings open with more force than strictly necessary and Grog strides in with Pike and Scanlan at his heels and Vax sliding in after them as the door closes. The gnomes find seats at the table and everyone turns to Vax expectantly.

“Alright, Birdboy wouldn’t tell us what was goin’ on til we was all together, so let’s hear it, eh? Who you in trouble with this time?” Grog is leaning up against the wall near the door. It’s the same position he used to occupy whenever they had war meetings - so that if anything tried to get through the door, he’d be the first person they ran into.

Vax is standing near the head of the table and he’s turning something over in his hands. Vex can’t quite make out what it is, but it looks wooden.

“We’re not all here though, are we?” Vax’s voice is quiet and distant, despite his proximity to them.

Grog takes a glance around the room and appears to do - well, the goliath equivalent of a headcount. “Uhh, looks right to me?”

Vex doesn’t bother looking around. “Vax?”

Her brother doesn’t look up at her. He’s just staring at the item in his hands.

“Vax, are you alright?” Pike asks gently.

“About a week ago, the Raven Queen sent me to the Feywild,” he says instead of replying.

“A week ago?” Scanlan interjects. “You told us you were leaving for that two months ago.”

“Yes, well, it was a week ago to me,” Vax snaps.

Pike frowns. “You lost time in the Feywild?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Vax waves his hand in dismissal.

“Of course it matters,” Keyleth starts to say.

Vax cuts her off, “No! _It doesn’t matter_ , that isn’t the important part! I don’t care how long I spent there, I care that I saw Percy!”

The room is dead silent.

“I’m sorry?” Scanlan asks, sounding strangled.

Vax’s hands have gone white knuckled around the object he’s holding. “The Raven Queen sent me to the Feywild,” he repeats. “She told me there was someone there that had previously been hidden from her sight. She showed me an image of an Archfey’s palace, and an image of the Archfey himself. It was Artagan.”

At the name of their one-time friend, Vex finally manages to loosen her tongue. “So it was an illusion,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “A cruel one, but he knew Percy.”

Vax still won’t look at her. “I thought so. I got to the palace, looking for some dumb warlock that had made a deal, and I saw him and I was - I was so angry. I spent hours lost in that fucking place, and he was the first living soul I ran into. I yelled at him and he - he just -” Vax laughs weakly.

“He looked at me just the way he used to, anytime someone said something stupid to him. And it just made me angrier, that it was such an _accurate_ illusion. And then the Raven Queen whispered in my ear - and she told me that it was him.”

Keyleth’s breath is coming in short, sharp rasps of air. “Your goddess told you it was really Percy?”

“At first all she said was that it was him,” and the fact that he doesn’t react to the way Keyleth says ‘goddess’ tells Vex how genuine he’s being. “I didn’t understand. I thought she was saying he was the target. Then Artagan showed up.”

Vax finally, _finally_ , looks up at all of them. He glances around at each of them, but his gaze skims off of Vex the fastest. “Artagan walked over to Percy and did - something. I don’t know, I’m not good with magic. His eyes went white and he just - he just stopped reacting. To anything. Like he wasn’t even there.”

Everyone in the room is hanging on to his every word like they’re waiting for a punchline. Like they’re waiting to be told, ‘and then he really was an illusion and I punched Artagan in the face - fucked up, right?’

Instead, Vax forces the words out like they hurt him to say. “Artagan said he didn’t want Percy to hear the conversation after all the trouble he went through to wipe his memory.”

Vex can’t breathe.

The rest of Vax’s words come out in a babbling rush, “Artagan said he wanted Percy because nobody had every outwitted him before. He said he waited to take Percy until we were done with the Conclave because it was ‘polite,’ and that Percy didn’t want to go with him but Artagan told him that if he didn’t go, he’d kill everyone he’d ever loved and make him watch, so he went. And he didn’t recognize me, but he acted so much like himself - he was still _Percy_ \- and _look_.”

Vax looks like he’s about to slam the item he’s been holding on the table, but he stops himself, takes a deep breath, and sets it down with near reverence.

It’s Trinket.

It’s blatantly and obviously Trinket. A small, detailed statue of Trinket, hand carved and not quite finished.

Grog turns around and puts his fist through the stone wall.

Keyleth chokes out a sob. She starts to reach for the statue, then stops and pulls her hand back to her chest.

Scanlan picks up the statue gingerly, as though it could disintegrate in his hands. He brings it closer to himself and Pike, inspecting it carefully.

“Can you use it to scry?” Vax asks, “Check in on him and see for yourself? Make sure it’s really him?”

“You can’t scry across planes,” Scanlan says without inflection. “We’d have to go to the Feywild.”

Grog storms over to the table and slams his fists on it. The entire table rocks and Scanlan clutches the statue to his chest to keep it safe. “Well we’re going, ain’t we?” he snarls.

“I can’t -” Keyleth hiccups in the middle of her reply, “I can’t today. I don’t have Plane Shift ready. I can’t until tomorrow.”

“That’s okay. That gives us time to make a plan,” Pike says. She looks around at all of them, “And we need a plan. If we just rush into an Archfey’s palace, we could just get Percy killed.”

Vax grimaces. “Artagan seemed... fond of him. I want Percy back but I think if he knew any better, he’d rather be dead than... that.”

“We’re not going to get him killed when we’ve got a chance to get him back!” Keyleth snaps through her tears.

“We know, we know, Keyleth,” Pike says soothingly. “That’s not what he’s saying.”

Scanlan looks across the table to Vex and locks eyes with her. Wordlessly, he holds out the statue. It takes her a moment to work up the nerve to take it from him.

Vex would be lying if she said it had been a long time since she thought about Percy. She’d also be lying if she said his memory didn’t still ache, or that she didn’t still dream about all the things she had wanted to have with him. The ache has dulled over the years, of course. Time doesn’t necessarily heal all wounds but it at least covers them up with scar tissue, no matter how deep they run.

She’d made her peace with his death. She had comforted herself with the knowledge that at least she still had the home he had given her and the family he had invited her to be a part of.

She still had the ring on a chain around her neck. Carved from a white dragon’s tooth and imprinted with the insignia of the de Rolo family. Their relationship had been too new for him to ask her and they both knew that, but he’d given it to her as a promise before they’d left to fight Thordak.

_“If nothing else, I swear to you - I’ll survive to ask you, one day. I promise.”_

And then he hadn’t.

But - no. No. Vex’s fingers curled around the statue tightly. He _had_ survived. Percy had kept his promise.

Artagan had stolen him away.

“We’re gonna get him back.”

Vex tears her eyes off the statue to see Grog looming over her. He reaches out to run one big finger over the smooth lines of the statue’s armor. It’s a gentle, careful motion that stands in stark contrast to the gaping hole he’s left in the stonework next to the door.

“We’re gonna get him back,” he says again. “And we’re gonna kill him like we killed that black tar fuck.”

“Yes,” Vex agrees. “Yes, we fucking are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering why Khavida's name is so different from the general style of de Rolo names, it's because Khavida and Percival the IV's father is Marquetian. Cass married him for a specific and political reason, but neither he nor the de Rolo kids are the focus of this story. It'll probably come up eventually, but the OCs aren't going to get too much limelight here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about how long this took to get out. Scanlan is a difficult perspective to write and as you can tell from the word count of this chapter, a lot of shit ended up happening.

Scanlan stays in the war room long after everyone else leaves. Pike and Vax have gone to pray to their respective goddesses. Grog has gone to demolish the courtyard training area instead of the castle. Keyleth has gone to talk to the Sun Tree. Vex has the unenviable task of telling Cassandra.

Scanlan has nothing but his own thoughts. He draws Mythcarver from its sheath and runs his fingers over the flat of the blade. It hums and vibrates, the most action it’s seen in a long time. He stares at his reflection in the gleaming metal of the sword.

Scanlan hasn’t thought about Percy in a while.

He used to think about him all the time, obviously. And Scanlan still misses him like a lost limb every time he stops by Whitestone. But Scanlan’s been alive for a long time and he’s lost a lot of people over the years. The death of a loved one never stops hurting, but it does stop being the first thing you think about every morning. And eventually you’ll realize you went an entire day without thinking about them, hate yourself for it for a month, and then realize that moving on is healthy and doesn’t mean you loved them any less.

Scanlan also doesn’t like thinking too hard about Percy, because he inevitably comes back around to the fact that of all the people in Vox Machina they could have lost, it was their youngest who died. It couldn’t have been Scanlan, who had lived a long life full of stupid mistakes and gotten his money’s worth out of the great game of life - no, they had to lose a man who would be considered a _child_ by gnome standards and who had suffered more than people that had lived hundreds of years longer than he had.

And now there’s this.

Scanlan had liked Artagan just fine. Or rather, he’d liked Garmelie. He’d known Artagan for all of about a minute and he’d been deathly afraid of him. Power had rolled off him like bad cologne and it had made the hairs on the back of Scanlan’s neck stand up. Scanlan had walked headlong into plenty of fights where he was outmatched but Artagan had been the first time where Scanlan had thought, _‘I don’t want to die like this. Not here, not forgotten in a bog on another plane where Kaylee will never know what happened.’_

Percy hadn’t been afraid of him. He’d scoffed and called him Puck, after an old bard story that Scanlan had been half impressed he knew.

Had Artagan known then? Even as he encouraged them to go kill their dragons, had he already decided that he was going to steal Percy from them? Had it been the instant that Percy tricked him, holding out a molded piece of stone from the floor with a sly grin? Or had he known as soon as he laid eyes on Percy that he’d found someone special?

Scanlan hates Artagan, and he hates very few people. There have been people who have tried to kill him that Scanlan didn’t hate - not out of any magnanimous sense of forgiveness, but simply because Scanlan didn’t care enough about them to hate them.

Scanlan cares very, very much about this.

The problem is this: For as much as Scanlan would very much enjoy killing Artagan, he isn’t sure they can. Vox Machina has killed plenty of very powerful creatures over the years from ancient dragons to vampires, and Scanlan has never thought of anything they’ve faced as unkillable. He’s always considered the possibility that Vox Machina might not be the ones to kill it - but he’s never thought of any fight as fundamentally unwinnable. Artagan might just be unwinnable.

The others would argue that they’d killed an Archfey before, but Scanlan is a bard and he knows the stories about Archfey. Saundor barely qualified. Saundor held no court and had no allies. He had wallowed in his grief and misery for so long that he’d poisoned his territory and even his own body. Saundor had been at the nadir of his power and for all that, he’d still nearly killed Vex. Artagan will be much worse than Saundor.

But he has Percy.

Scanlan spins Mythcarver slowly, then drives it through the war room table. There’s no resistance until the hilt meets the surface with a dull thump, preventing it from sinking any deeper.

Artagan’s going to be worse. But it’ll be worth it.

~

Scanlan doesn’t sleep well that night. He doesn’t expect to sleep at all, though he wants to so that he can be at his best for his family’s sake. He spends most of the night counting stones in the ceiling and trying to pretend the silent tears are because he’s staring too intently at the stonework to blink.

He must have fallen asleep at some point because he dreams that he’s back on Glintshore, with Percy broken and wheezing amidst the shattered glass. He can hear Vex wailing but he can’t see her - can’t see any of the others in fact. Scanlan’s standing on the other side of the crater where Ripley was, but she isn’t there either. It’s just Scanlan and a dying Percy - and Scanlan isn’t close enough. He’s trying to run towards him so that he can heal him but he’s too small to run fast and he keeps stumbling over the sharp ground. He tries to Dimension Door but the magic at his fingertips is nothing but tired sparks. By the time he reaches Percy, it’s too late. Percy stares up at him with blank, unseeing eyes and Scanlan couldn’t even be there to hold him while he died.

Scanlan wakes up feeling like his subconscious needs to work on the subtlety.

He isn’t sure how long he slept for and he doesn’t feel well rested, but he gathers his things and heads out to the courtyard. The sun has yet to rise and burn away the morning mist, so it feels damp and eerily quiet in the yard. It’s too early for anyone who isn’t one of the night guards, but Scanlan finds that he is not the first person to be waiting there.

Grog paces through the morning fog, his knuckles clenching and unclenching around the haft of his greataxe. He’s muttering to the empty air and Scanlan can only catch bits and pieces of it, but it isn’t hard to fill in the blanks.

“...little goatfucker... mess with my family? ...axe straight up his arse...”

Scanlan takes a deep breath and revels in the warm familiarity of Grog’s mounting rage. It’s been a long time since he’s seen Grog fight for anything but the sport of it and he’s willing to admit he’s been concerned. For all that Grog looks as strong as he’s ever been, Scanlan has seen the flecks of gray starting to color his beard. Goliath’s don’t live any longer than humans do. Usually shorter, though that’s more due to their habit of picking fights than any biological deficiency.

It’s worrisome, but if Grog had to choose a way to die, Scanlan knows that battling a powerful creature to protect his family would be somewhere at the top of the list. Maybe even above having a heart attack from too much sex in one night. Grog and Scanlan might have talked about that while drunk at some point.

Scanlan spies a relatively low garden wall he can perch on and heads over to it, resigning himself to watching Grog pace restlessly until everyone else shows. He crosses Grog’s path to get to it and Grog bends to pick Scanlan up by the back of his shirt and deposits him on the wall without ever breaking stride. Scanlan lays Mythcarver across his lap so he can sit more comfortably, readjusts his shirt, and settles in to wait.

They don’t have to wait very long.

Scanlan sees the familiar, hulking form of a fully armored bear emerge from the mist. And even though he knows it cannot be anyone else behind Trinket, his heart still skips a beat when he sees the shadow of a figure in a blue greatcoat, the ends of a long weapon sticking up over one shoulder. It’s Vex, of course. Fenthras slung across her back and wearing Percy’s coat, the same as she’s been wearing for the past twenty five years.

Will Percy recognize it? Scanlan wonders. Will he remember her? Vax said Percy hadn’t remembered him, but surely of all people...

Keyleth and Pike arrive soon after, Keyleth clutching Pike’s hand tightly. Keyleth’s eyes are red but her face is screwed up in determination. Pike is in full armor, with the Dawnmartyr plate, the gauntlets, and the thundering war maul that Kima gave to her before they left to fight Thordak. It’s the first time Scanlan has seen her ready for a fight in the past decade, but oh, is she ready.

Vax is either the last to show or the first. He emerges from the long morning shadows of the castle only moments after Pike and Keyleth arrive, and Scanlan genuinely has no idea if he’d been waiting there or if he’d only just shown up.

Grog shoulders his axe the instant he sees Vax and reaches a hand down to grab Pike’s free one in preparation for the Plane Shift. “Right, let’s get going.”

“Hold on,” Scanlan interjects. “We’re going either way, but do we actually have a plan?”

“It’s not like we ever stick to our plans anyway,” Keyleth says sourly. Her free hand winds into Trinket’s fur and she closes her eyes to start concentrating on the spell.

“I don’t expect it to go off without a hitch, but I’d at least like to have a plan going in. That way I can tell how fucked we are when it goes wrong,” Scanlan points out.

“I might have a plan,” Vax says quietly.

All eyes turn towards him. Even Keyleth cracks an eye open to stare at him.

“I’m sorry, did I hear that correctly?” Scanlan asks, “Vax ‘Jenga’ ildan has a plan?”

“I didn’t come up with it -” Vax snaps.

“Well that makes much more sense.”

“- the Raven Queen did.”

Keyleth’s face twists into an angry snarl. “So the deity who sent you to the Feywild to kill Percy,” she nearly stutters over his name, “suddenly has a plan to rescue him?”

Vax grits his teeth, “She didn’t send me to kill him. She just said there was someone there I needed to find. I assumed it was a target but she never said that.”

Keyleth looks like she’s about to say something else, but Vex cuts in, “What is this plan then?”

Vax looks uncomfortable and his gaze drops to the ground. “It’s more of a deal.”

“A deal,” Vex repeats, voice flat. “She wants you to make a deal with an Archfey.”

“Can you just trust me? Please? The deal doesn’t put Percy or any of us in danger. It doesn’t even put me in danger,” he adds quickly as Pike opens her mouth. She closes it, looking only somewhat mollified. “And if Artagan doesn’t take it then we go with our usual backup plan and hit him until it works out in our favor.”

There’s a long beat of silence before Grog grunts in agreement. Keyleth takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, focusing again. Vax reaches out for Grog’s belt with one hand and Scanlan with the other.

Scanlan frowns slightly at his position in the circle. How did he end up between the twins? He reaches up for Vex’s free hand to complete the circle. She’s trembling and all he can do is rub his thumb over the back of her hand.

“Okay,” Keyleth says, “Vax, I need you to focus on Artagan’s palace. You’re the only one who’s been there. Everyone else just... just don’t think about any place we’ve been in the Feywild.”

Pike glances up at Keyleth, “Would thinking about Artagan help?”

“If you can think of him without thinking of a location, yeah sure, go for it.”

Scanlan closes his eyes and thinks of Artagan - or rather, he thinks of Garmelie, before they knew who he was. He thinks of that nervous looking satyr sitting across from them in his mansion, trying to convince them to let him go. He thinks of the way Percy abruptly decided they should work with Garmelie and how he’d been suspicious but not suspicious enough. And how Percy had come to Scanlan to tell him that he’d been charmed, and Scanlan couldn’t do anything then and now -

It’s impossible to tell if the bile rising at the back of his throat is because of Artagan or because of the lurching nausea of the Plane Shift.

Scanlan opens his eyes. They’re back in the Feywild.

The Feywild is a total shithole, but even Scanlan can admit it’s a beautiful shithole. All of the colors are more vivid, just this side of eye-searing, and everything feels so alive. Scanlan knows perfectly well that plants in the material plane are alive too, but only in the Feywild could Scanlan look at every tree and every flower and feel as though they had individual heartbeats and were aware of his presence. Scanlan was not a fan.

He doesn’t recognize the area they’re in, which means either the Plane Shift worked or it went very wrong.

It’s a densely wooded forest, but it’s dense in a strange way. There’s plenty of space between the trees, but that’s because the trees are _massive_. They stretch upwards into the sky to form a dark canopy that he can’t see the end of. The thick trunks of the trees look like each of them could supply enough lumber to build an entire town and still have enough left over to keep all the fireplaces well fed. He feels like he’s been shrunk down - and Scanlan doesn’t have a lot of size left to lose.

Vax is glancing around but he doesn’t seem concerned. “Give me a second. This is the right forest, I just have to figure out where in the forest we are.” The wings burst out of the back of his armor and he shoots up into the air, disappearing into the canopy.

“Keyleth, what kind of trees are these?” Pike asks. “They’re gigantic.”

“They look like redwood trees. They’re just, ah, much larger than any redwood I’ve ever seen.” Keyleth rests a hand on the trunk of the closest one. “I wonder...”

There’s a soft green glow from the palm of her hand that radiates into the trunk of the tree. Scanlan has watched Keyleth talk to plants before and it never stops being utterly bizarre.

“Do you know where Artagan is?” Keyleth asks.

There’s a pause, followed by Keyleth turning her head towards their right. Scanlan can see Vex making a mental note but privately thinks she would have found her way unerringly anyway. Percy had always been her magnetic north.

“Does Artagan know we’re here?” Keyleth asks next. This time there is no pause between the question and Keyleth’s reaction - an instant scowl.

There’s a rush of wings above their head and Scanlan looks up to see Vax coming back down. He lands just in time to hear Keyleth’s final question.

“Do you know where Percival de Rolo is?”

Scanlan can’t tell if this pause is longer or if it just feels longer because he’s holding his breath.

Keyleth takes a shuddered breath, then pats the tree and says, “Thanks, buddy.”

“So?” Grog demands.

“He’s with Artagan,” Keyleth says. “The tree knew him, and he’s with Artagan.”

“I told you he was,” Vax says softly.

“I know you did. I know, I just -”

“I know. I understand.”

“Does he know we’re coming?” Pike says.

Scanlan snorts. “He’d be a pretty shitty Archfey if he didn’t.”

“No, I mean does _Percy_ know we’re coming?”

Vax’s brow furrows. “I don’t know. I don’t know if Artagan even let him remember talking to me.”

Vex’s face has been a thundercloud all morning but she manages to look still angrier at that. “We’re wasting time,” she says, and heads off at a hurried pace in the direction that Keyleth indicated.

Scanlan doesn’t even bother pretending he can keep up and instead lets Grog swing him and Pike up on his shoulders, then take off at a brisk jog to catch up.

Keeping track of time and distance in the Feywild is an exercise in futility so it’s difficult for Scanlan to say how long they spend traveling to Artagan’s palace. The party is silent as they move and sitting on Grog’s shoulder means Scanlan has little else to do but stare at the trees they pass, trying to pick out any landmarks. None of them have any distinct markings and Scanlan has absolutely no intention of scarring the trunk on one to try and mark their progress. In the Feywild, that’s just a recipe for getting blinded at best.

If they’re going the right way, Scanlan can’t tell, but Vex, Vax, and Keyleth never waver in their direction so he assumes that Team Half-Elf knows where they’re going.

He can’t say for certain, but Scanlan thinks that it’s hours later when they finally reach the treeline. Vax’s wings have long since disappeared and their pace has slowed as even Vex has tired out. Without the canopy above them, everything feels brighter and less closed in. It’s still dusk, as it always is in the Feywild, but there’s more light than there was in the oppressive gloom of the forest.

Ahead of them is what can only be described as a palace carved out of the single largest tree to ever exist. It’s so large that it takes Scanlan most of the walk up to it to realize that it really is all one tree. The size of it is so ridiculous that it seems impossible, but then, it _is_ the Feywild. The stairway leading up to the entrance appears to be carved out of a thick root and it twists and winds at strange angles and varying steepness.

Eventually the stairs level off into a beautiful veranda full to bursting with more types of flowers and plants than Scanlan can even begin to name. It’s unquestionably beautiful, but there’s also a massive werebear sitting by the front door, staring at them and picking his teeth with one big claw. He’s lounging against the wall and even sitting, he’s about chest height to Grog.

Grog hefts his axe but Vax steps forward first.

“Hey buddy,” he says conversationally. “I don’t recall seeing you here last time. Artagan decided on a new guard?”

The werebear snorts. “Nah. Been here for a long time. Lord Artagan just said not to bug you before.”

Vax is visibly taken aback by this. “He just let me in last time? Even knowing who I was looking for?”

“Sure.”

“Why?”

The werebear shrugs with disinterest. “Why do Archfey do anything? M’just a guard. Lord Artagan tells me there’s a group gonna come looking for Percival -”

All of them tense at Percy’s name. The werebear doesn’t appear to notice.

“- and I should stay out here to greet ‘em. S’you, yeah?”

“’Greet us’, huh?” Grog says menacingly.

Scanlan and Pike glance at each other over Grog’s head. If this is about to escalate, being up on Grog’s shoulders is not the best place to be.

The werebear lumbers to his feet. There’s barely enough room on the veranda for his head not to scrape the roof. He doesn’t seem to have any weapons on him but it isn’t like he needs them when he has claws longer than Vax’s daggers and a maw full of sharp teeth. “Yeah. Greet you.”

Scanlan and Pike start to squirm off Grog’s shoulders. Vax quickly snatches Scanlan and swings him to the ground. Pike just jumps off and lands with a clatter of armor, readying her mace.

“Name’s Hram.”

Vox Machina stares at him.

“Lord Artagan and Percival are in the gardens. M’supposed to lead you there.”

“Artagan _wants_ to see us?” Scanlan asks incredulously.

“I guess?”

Scanlan has known mind controlled guards that sounded more engaged and interested than Hram does. It’s hard to read facial expressions on a bear, but Scanlan does have three decades of experience on that front. Hram looks bored out of his mind.

Grog just looks disappointed.

Hram turns away from them and taps the door with one big claw. It swings open, more due to magic than any physical force from Hram. Scanlan suspects that Grog could have pounded on the door all day with the Titanstone Knuckles without ever getting through it.

“C’mon.”

He leads them through a foyer, down a corridor, up a staircase, through what looks like a sitting room, and then down two other sets of staircases. Along the way, they pass the occasional fey creature, most of whom avoid them. Two satyrs gawk openly but scurry out of Hram’s way, a male elf suddenly becomes very interested in a portrait as they pass, a group of pixies flit away from them in alarm, and what looks like a completely normal stag just walking through the damn hallway stops and stares at them like they’re the weird ones. Their guide doesn’t acknowledge any of them.

Eventually he leads them into a hallway that makes Vax groan when he sees it. Hram ignores him and leads them about halfway down the hallway to a locked door that he taps with a claw. It swings open and Hram stands by the door, gesturing them through it.

As they file through the door, Hram says, “Garden’s out here. I don’t see ‘em but they might be in the hedge. Kudzu will know. I hear you got a reputation, but Percival likes that little thing. You kill Kudzu and you won’t make friends with Percival.”

Scanlan swallows down his instinctive response that they’re already friends with Percival and instead says, “And where can we find this Kudzu?”

“Pond,” Hram says with a grunt and closes the door behind them.

The garden is expansive. It’s also entirely inside the tree that the palace is built into. Scanlan had expected to exit into a grove outside of the tree, but he can see the inner walls of the trunk in the distance. There’s no sky above them either, just a dome of living wood. Glowing wisps illuminate much of the gardens to make up for the lack of natural light and climbing up the sides of the trunk walls are some sort of mosses and fungi that glitter with their own internal lights.

A walkway leading down from the door splits into three distinct pathways as they follow it. The path to the left leads to a gazebo covered in ivy and decorated with small hanging lanterns. The path to the right leads to a large pond shrouded by cattails, lily pads, and rushes. The middle path leads straight onto the entrance of a hedge maze. The wisps notably avoid the hedges and the entire area seems steeped in shadows.

For the moment, they appear to be alone in the garden.

“They probably are in the hedge maze,” Vax says grimly. “But let’s make sure before we commit ourselves to that particular hell.”

Vex’s eyes are locked on the entrance to the hedge maze, but even she doesn’t seem too keen on it. “Fine. But the gazebo and the pond are close enough that I think we can split up and save time. Scanlan, Grog, you’re with me.” She starts off towards the pond without waiting to see if they’re following.

“Yell for help if you need it,” Pike says, mostly to Scanlan, who is the only one who hasn’t already started moving.

“What trouble could we possibly get into in a pond in an Archfey’s garden in the Feywild?” Scanlan says sardonically.

“Scanlan, I’m pretty sure there’s nowhere you couldn’t get into trouble.”

“That’s true,” Scanlan starts off after Grog and Vex, calling over his shoulder, “just scream if the gazebo attacks you.”

Grog is already making a wide circle of the pond, poking curiously through the rushes. Vex is also making a slow circle of the pond, but it’s clear that she’s more interested in peering into the water. She seems to have made the assumption that Scanlan has, that this ‘Kudzu’ they’re looking for is a water nymph. Scanlan starts moving around the pond in the opposite direction of Grog and Vex. The pond wasn’t big enough to contain anything Scanlan felt he should be concerned about (such as a feymire crocodile). He wouldn’t venture so far as to say he felt safe, but he wasn’t out of shooting range of Vex and he was in screaming range of everyone else.

The wisps in the garden dance across the surface of the pond, around cattails, and even right into Scanlan’s face once or twice. They’re distracting in the extreme and it occurs to Scanlan that they might be deliberately doing so just as he trips over something. He barely manages to avoid getting a face full of pond mud, mostly by getting it all over his arms instead. He twists to see what he tripped over and spies a broad green scaled tail. Scanlan’s heart drops into his stomach.

“Scanlan, are you alright?” Vex calls from across the pond.

He wrenches himself back around to look ahead and finds himself staring into the equally surprised eyes of a young green dragon that must have been napping in the reeds. For a moment, both of them stare at one another in total confusion. Then one of them (Scanlan is _pretty_ sure it’s the dragon) lets out an embarrassing squeal and both of them reel away from each other, Scanlan scrambling backwards in the mud and the dragon’s wings flapping uselessly in the dense vegetation that had hidden it from view.

At the first sound of distress, Grog is barreling across the pond, water and muck splashing everywhere. He tackles the dragon with a roar and the two roll for several feet, the dragon squawking all the while. By the time they stop rolling, Grog has the dragon clutched tight to his chest while it scrabbles at him with its claws and snaps ineffectively at his arms.

It’s _maybe_ the size of Trinket. Scanlan doesn’t know much about dragons but this thing is a toddler at best.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Scanlan and Vex both yell.

Grog pauses, one big arm wrapped around the dragon’s neck, a twitch away from crushing its windpipe. The dragon freezes as well.

“Are you Kudzu?” Scanlan demands.

The dragon (drake? dragonling? wyrmling? Scanlan doesn’t know what to call a baby dragon) nods frantically. “Yeah, yeah, I’m -” it hiccups in fear and a small puff of poison gas leaks out of its mouth. Grog doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m Kudzu.”

“And you know Percy?”

Somewhere behind him, Scanlan can hear the clanging of armor that means the gazebo team heard the commotion. The little dragon stares over Scanlan’s head and starts squirming again.

“Hey!” Scanlan snaps his fingers and yellow eyes dart back down to him. He says again, more slowly, “Do you know Percy de Rolo?”

Its tail flicks and the eyes narrow at him. “Are you talking about Percival?”

“Yes. Does everyone here call him Percival? That’s really uptight.”

“That’s what Lord Artagan calls him.”

“And you’re friends with him?” Vex asks, picking her way around the pond carefully.

“I guess? He teaches me how to play games and then he beats me at them.”

Grog chortles in amusement. “That’s Percy.”

The frill on the back of the dragon’s neck stands straight up and quivers in clear offense. “He says I’m getting better at them.”

“Of course you are,” Vex says distractedly.

Vax, Pike, and Keyleth have finally made it to them, slowing their rush as they realize that if there is an issue, it’s well under control. Scanlan glances back at them and sees Vax and Keyleth’s eyes narrow dangerously at Kudzu. Vex doesn’t look thrilled either. Scanlan makes the executive decision that they need to keep this conversation short unless they all want to be party to the murder of a child. Even if it is a green dragon.

“We’re looking for Percy, actually,” Scanlan says.

Kudzu snorts. “Obviously.”

“Do you know where he is?”

It jerks its head towards the hedge and all of them groan. “Lord Artagan was in the gazebo until a few hours ago, and Percival was telling me about dice games, but then Lord Artagan suddenly wanted to go into the hedge maze so -” the dragon gives a pretty good approximation of a shrug.

Vex frowns. “This was just a few hours ago?”

“Yeah? Percival didn’t even get to finish explaining the game to me.”

“He must have sensed us arrive,” Vax says. “He wants us to deal with the hedge maze.”

“It’s a pretty nice place,” Kudzu offers. “Dark and cozy.”

“Great. Cool. We’re going into an Archfey’s hedge maze,” Scanlan says with a sigh. “Grog, can you put that down please?”

Grog loosens his arms enough for Kudzu to wriggle out of them, then it leaps into the air, flutters towards the pond, and dives under the water.

“I coulda just killed it,” he says as it disappears from view.

Pike pats his knee. “I’m not sure Percy would have appreciated that.”

With no options left to them, Vox Machina began making their way to the hedge maze.

Scanlan knows they’re all fucked the instant they walk into it. All sound and light just... stops.

The garden was quiet but there had been the low hum of all the wisps as they moved about, a few faint bird noises, even an intermittent grumble that in retrospect Scanlan now realizes was the sound of Kudzu snoring.

The hedge is _silent_ and there is not a single source of light to be found. The hedges don’t reach the top of the domed garden, but there is no ambient light coming from either the wisps or the luminescent fungi. If Scanlan were a betting man (and he is), he’d wager that attempting to go over the hedge would result in hitting something solid at best and deadly at worst.

Keyleth’s hands burst into flames and all of them wince at the sudden light. It illuminates the immediate area around them, but there’s little to see other than the dense shrubbery.

Grog glances around and aptly sums the situation up with, “Well this is gonna _suck_.”

It does.

There’s absolutely no indication of which way to go, no trail that Vex can pick up, and the plants ignore Keyleth when she asks them where to go. Grog makes exactly one attempt to force his way through a hedge with his axe, but the hedge regenerates so quickly that it was pointless, and thorny vines smack Grog in the face for trying.

There is never any source of light other than Keyleth. Scanlan suspects that this makes them a beacon for any dangerous creatures that might be living in the hedge maze, but frankly a fight would be an improvement over wandering around lost for hours on end.

They try a variety of methods to get through the maze. The twins try the old trick of putting their hand on the left wall and just following that, which lasts until they inexplicably find themselves back at the entrance. Keyleth singes the grass behind them to leave a trail, only to discover when they hit a dead end and are forced to backtrack that the burn marks are gone behind them. Scanlan and Pike climb up onto Trinket’s back with a pen and parchment and actually try to make a map and this seems to work out until they find themselves circling back to a previous position and the pathways were suddenly different.

All of them are starting to get very, very frustrated.

From Trinket’s back, Scanlan says to the open air, “If you wanted to see us, maybe you should try not hiding from us.”

Pike sighs but there’s otherwise no response, so he continues.

“Vax does this sometimes too,” that at least gets him a dirty look from Vax. “He wants something but he doesn’t want to admit he wants something, so he just lurks around and forces the rest of us to try and figure out what he wants.”

Grog snickers and elbows Keyleth, who frowns but doesn’t disagree.

“I would just think that somebody of your advanced age and status would be above these kinds of teenage games, especially since we’re old friends and we’re here to make a deal.”

There’s a sudden shift in the air that makes all of them freeze. There’s still no sound and no light beyond Keyleth’s glowing fists, but there’s a faint, warm wind that brushes past them - which should be impossible given that they’re in an enclosed hedge maze that is furthermore inside an enclosed tree.

Scanlan, it seems, has found just the right words. As per usual.

“The only trick to finding Lord Artagan is to be interesting enough for him to find you.”

All of them, even Trinket, whip around at the voice.

Standing there in the gloom, the firelight glinting off his glasses and looking perfectly unimpressed, is Percy.

“Lord Artagan is bored of watching you stumble around and frankly, so am I. I have been tasked with bringing you to him, seeing as how you lack the competence to find your own way.”

He eyes each of them in turn, gaze lingering briefly before moving on to the next person.

There’s not even the slightest hint of recognition. Scanlan may throw up.

The twins had been at the front of the party to try and lead them but now that Percy has appeared behind them all, they’re difficult to see around Grog, Keyleth, and a bear carrying two gnomes. Vax shoves his way past them and says, “Do you remember me?”

Scanlan’s heart skips a beat when Percy responds with, “It’d be difficult to forget you,” but he follows it up with, “Your first words to me were to call me an asshole.”

“I - yes,” Vax admits with a wince. “I did do that. In my defense, I thought you were someone else.”

“Obviously,” Percy says dryly. “Which only makes you a fool, doesn’t it? If you thought I was your enemy, then you ought to have been polite until you had a chance to do something about it.”

Oh gods, it really is Percy in all his charming and ruthless politicking glory.

“Look, Percy -”

Percy frowns at Vax. “I believe I told you when we met, my name is Percival.”

“Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the third,” Keyleth says faintly. “Yes, we know.”

He stares at her. “I don’t believe all this rudeness is really called for. If you don’t like my name then fine, but there’s no reason to make fun of it.”

“What? I wasn’t -”

“My name is Percival. Not Percy or Percival von - whatever you just said. It’s very simple and if you can’t remember it then I’d rather be called ‘Hey, you’ than whatever other derogatory names you care to come up with.”

Scanlan is _actually_ going to throw up. But he’s going to wait until he can throw up on Artagan because _fuck_.

“Percival,” comes Vex’s deceptively serene voice from the back of the party. Grog very nearly throws himself into a hedge to get out of her way as she passes. “You said you were going to take us to Artagan?”

Percy inclines his head toward her in a polite nod. “I did say that, and I’m glad one of you at least can mind your manners.”

He looks as though he’s about to say something else, but then he pauses and takes a better look at Vex. There’s a moment where Scanlan is pretty sure that all of them are holding their breath.

Eventually, Percy says, “Forgive me, miss, I cannot help but notice that coat is much too large for you.”

Vex stares back at him steadily. “Yes, I know.”

He cocks his head to the side, then shrugs. “As you like.”

Percy turns and begins heading back into the darkness the way he came and there is a mad scramble to follow him. Scanlan doesn’t look at any of the others. He keeps his eyes locked on the back of Percy’s head, as though if he looks away, he might disappear again.

“Hey uhm, Percival?” Pike calls hesitantly.

Percy glances over his shoulder but keeps walking. “Hmm?”

“How do you find your way around the maze? Have you been here long enough to memorize it?”

“There’s no memorizing to be done - it rearrange itself constantly, as I’m sure you noticed. There is a trick to it, but the short answer is that I’m following Ephraim.”

Scanlan frowns. He has darkvision and he hasn’t seen anyone or anything else in this maze but them. “Who’s Ephraim?”

Percy stops abruptly and half turns towards them. “I know what you did to Kudzu. If you can’t be polite to friends of mine then you’ll be escorted out of the palace one way or another.”

Scanlan feels more than sees Pike hold her hands up in a calming gesture. He’s still not taking his eyes off Percy. “Any friend of yours is a friend of ours.”

Percy’s brow furrows in confusion. “I rather doubt that, but alright.” He turns his head back towards the shadows ahead of them and says, “Ephraim?”

For a few moments, nothing seems to happen. Then Trinket’s head shoots up and he starts to growl until Scanlan gives him a kick. A shadow moves into the light and presses itself against Percy’s legs, giving them the appearance of just stopping at mid-thigh. The shadow gets just close enough to the light that Scanlan can make out the form of a huge tar black dog, indistinguishable from the shadows it was lurking in, before it completes its circle around Percy and disappears into the darkness again.

“That’s a shadow mastiff, isn’t it?” Keyleth asks hesitantly. “From the - well. The Plane of Shadows.”

“Yes, she is,” Percy agrees. “She’s also recently been promoted to being my official bodyguard.”

Keyleth’s next words are slow and carefully picked, “And how does something not native to the Feywild wind up in an Archfey’s court?”

Percy chuckles. “Lord Artagan has a taste for the unusual. He would rather fill his home with the rare and unique than a horde of generic courtiers. Creatures of interest as opposed to common servants.”

“I would think,” Vex says, “that the more rare and unique something is, the more capable it would be of fighting back. Wouldn’t Artagan have cause for concern about those he takes?”

Percy looks back at her, a quizzical expression on his face. “Lord Artagan doesn’t _take_ anyone. And he’s an Archfey. Who could fight him if he did?”

Percy (or rather, Ephraim) leads them around a corner and at the far end of the corridor, Scanlan can see an extremely dim light. Ephraim becomes more visible as they approach it and more creepy as a consequence. There’s just something unsettling about a dog made of only somewhat corporeal shadows.

Keyleth extinguishes her flame hands as they round the final bend and emerge into the center of the hedge maze. It’s a moderately sized area with a bubbling fountain in the center. It’s lit only by a small glowing crystal that floats above the fountain - the light barely comparable to a single candle being used to illuminate an entire dining room.

“Lord Artagan,” Percy calls out, dipping into a slight bow. “Your guests have arrived.”

Artagan is standing next to the fountain, staring into the waters. He looks up at Percy’s greeting and visibly brightens to see them. “Ahh, the illustrious Vox Machina! It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you all. I must admit, I was expecting you a bit sooner but mortals can be so difficult to predict sometimes.”

There are no benches or chairs of any sort, but Percy crosses over to the fountain and sits on the edge of it, near Artagan. Ephraim follows him and settles in at his feet, one big paw coming up to cover her eyes from the light, which is no doubt unpleasant for a shadow creature, even as dim as it is.

Artagan spreads his arms wide and says, “Welcome to my court.” He gives a bow so deep and grandiose that it can only be sarcastic.

An arrow covered in brambles whips past Scanlan’s head just as Artagan straightens back up. This was not the plan, but it doesn’t matter anyway because Artagan snatches the arrow out of the air before anyone else can even think to attack as well. Percy flinches away from the attack and rises to his feet (his reflexes have slowed, Scanlan notes absently, too much time spent idle) while Ephraim snarls, but Artagan never stops beaming at them.

“Now, now, my friends. If I didn’t think you could be reasonable about this, I wouldn’t have let you in here in the first place,” Artagan chides.

Grog hefts his axe and roars, charging forward for an overhand chop. This was _really_ not the plan but Scanlan watches in fascination, wanting to know if Artagan think he’s just going to catch an axe blade like he did an arrow.

He doesn’t. Artagan just grabs Percy and drags him in front of him.

Grog jerks the axe to the side so hard that he almost spins in a complete circle before embedding it into the soft earth.

Percy’s eyes are wide and alarmed, but Artagan reaches up to tap him on the temple and he -

Scanlan has seen Percy _dead_ and it was almost a better look on him than this. At least then he had looked at peace. Artagan gently directs him back to sitting on the fountain and he doesn’t move a single limb unless Artagan moves it for him. His eyes are blank and his face is lifeless. Ephraim whines softly, resting her head on Percy’s lap and pawing at his legs. Scanlan immediately revises his opinion of her.

“I think,” Scanlan says, slowly and quietly, “that if you were looking for a reasonable discussion, you should undo that immediately.”

“Ah, regrettably, I won’t be doing that,” Artagan says with a sigh. “He caused me no end of trouble before I wiped his memories and it’s a tedious process that I don’t care to repeat. I do agree however, that he’s far less interesting like this.”

He pats Percy’s cheek fondly. He turns back to Vox Machina and levels a grin at them. His teeth seem sharper than Scanlan remembers. “So! I know why you’re here but I must confess, I’m curious. You mentioned a deal and I would just love to know what you have that you think is worth me giving up Percival.”

“Your life might be a pretty good start,” Keyleth growls.

Artagan doesn’t look the least bit threatened. If anything, his grin only widens. “Well, killing all of you would make it much easier to keep Percival’s memories under wraps, I’ll admit. We’ll leave that on the table, shall we?”

Vax steps forward and takes a deep breath. He exhales sharply through his nose and says, “I’m here to make you a deal.”

Artagan’s attention zeroes in on him.

“But I’m not the one you’ll be making the deal with. I’m just the mediator.”

One elegant eyebrow goes up. “Fascinating. But the particulars of who is offering me the deal interest me far less than the terms of it.”

Vax levels a steely glare at him. “The _Raven Queen_ wants to make a deal with you.”

Artagan blinks in what may be genuine surprise. “I retract my statement - I am extremely interested in the particulars of _who_. And the why as well, come to think of it.”

“This is a favor. For me, and a human she was fond of once.”

“Popular boy, isn’t he? A longed for prize of demons, dragons, gods, and fey. And Exandria’s heroes, of course.” Artagan leans in close to Vax, who recoils. “But I’m the one who won him.”

“Stealing isn’t winning,” Vex hisses.

Artagan laughs loudly, “Bold words from a pack of thieves, tomb robbers, and killers. Of course stealing is winning, what else would you call it? If you can’t hold onto something, then you didn’t deserve to keep it.”

Vex snarls and goes for another arrow but Pike grabs her arm - Artagan is standing right next to Percy and he’s in no state to dodge anything.

“Do you want to hear the deal or not?” Vax demands.

“I’m all ears, my dear,” Artagan says with a wide gesture.

“We get Percy back,” Vax begins and Artagan frowns immediately, “for a certain amount of time. During that time, we get to use any means at our disposal to restore his memories. If, at the end of that amount of time, we’ve been unable to overcome your magic, you get Percy back.”

Artagan stares at him, as does the rest of Vox Machina. “I don’t see what I get out of this deal, other than having to spend time without my favorite companion.”

“If we fail -” Vax swallows hard, “If we can’t restore Percy’s memories, the Raven Queen will let you keep him. Indefinitely. You must realize that you prolonging his lifespan is in direct violation of the natural order. I don’t think that I could ever bring myself to kill him but I’m not the only servant of the Raven Queen and I will not be her last Champion.”

“You’re offering me clemency from a goddess who has never granted such before,” Artagan says slowly and thoughtfully. “My, but I might have to take you up on your offer just for the rarity of it all.”

“This only applies if we fail to restore his memories,” Vax says. “If we succeed, you have to remove the magic you’ve placed on him and leave him and the entire de Rolo family alone forever.”

“Of course, of course,” Artagan smiles, “If you succeed, you’ll get Percival back for the rest of a human’s pitifully short lifespan. You do realize you’ll all still outlive him, yes?”

Scanlan grits his teeth, “At least he’ll be with his family instead of here with _you_.”

“Well consider me delighted by your proposition, but I have a caveat.”

“ _I_ have a caveat,” Scanlan snaps.

“Excellent, I love a good negotiation! As to mine however, it’s very simple -” Artagan holds up a finger, “No divine intervention. You may use whatever means at your disposal to attempt to restore Percival’s lost memories, except for the assistance of the deities you so regularly call upon. That would be cheating.” He waves a hand at Scanlan, “And yours?”

Scanlan narrows his eyes and gestures at everything around him. “Neither you, nor your court, nor any other fey creature get to interfere. You get no contact with Percy for as long as we have him.”

“Speaking of which, how long were you thinking? I’ve noticed that you’ve yet to set a time frame for this little wager,” Artagan says to Vax.

Vax blinks and hesitates, clearly having not thought about that part. Scanlan is expecting him to bid high and for Artagan to have to barter him down, but instead Vax blurts out, “A year.”

Scanlan smacks his forehead and Artagan _instantly_ says, “Done!”

A year? A _year_? What’s a year to an Archfey? Vax at least seems to immediately realize his mistake because he looks distraught. Artagan holds out his hand and it’s too late now to renegotiate. Vax’s fingers twitch for a moment before he glances over at Percy, sitting blank and empty on the edge of the fountain, Ephraim licking plaintively at his unresponsive fingers.

“We’re taking Ephraim,” Scanlan says suddenly.

Artagan turns to look at him, hand still held out for Vax. Ephraim jerks around as well.

“She’s not from the Feywild anyway. If she has any way of extending your magic, then she isn’t allowed do that. You can’t contact Percy through Ephraim. But...” Scanlan hesitates, considering for the first time how weird this is probably all going to be to Percy. “If he doesn’t have memories of anything but the Feywild, this is going to be pretty confusing. He should have at least one familiar face.”

Ephraim’s shadowy nub of a tail wiggles frantically, even as her face remains stoic.

Artagan stares curiously, then shrugs. He turns to face Vax again. “You get Percival and Ephraim for one year, during which time you may use any means at your disposal other than divine aid to attempt to restore Percival’s memories. If you succeed, you keep him with no further harassment from myself or anyone of my employ. At the end of the year, if and when you have failed, I get Percival back with no further interference from your goddess.”

Vax starts to reach for Artagan’s hand, but Artagan leans forward first and murmurs, low enough to be threatening but loud enough for all of them to hear, “And at the end of the year, when I get him back, I am wiping his memories of the entire year. He will not remember you. He will not remember being separated from me. And you and your goddess will leave well enough alone.”

Vax stares at him for a long moment. Then he reaches out and clasps Artagan’s hand.

There’s a visible surge of magic over their linked hands but it dissipates quickly and Artagan pulls back with a broad smile and none of his previous menace. He claps his hands together excitedly and says, “Well, my friends. Your year on the material plane starts now, so I suggest you be on your way. I do look forward to seeing my Percival again in a year but I confess, I’m also very much looking forward to seeing you all explain this to him.”

Artagan snaps his fingers and disappears entirely. Sitting on the side of the fountain, Percy startles abruptly and jerks so hard he nearly falls into the water. Ephraim gives a booming bark and tugs on his pant leg with her teeth to pull him away from it.

“I don’t like the way he said, ‘a year on the material plane,’” Keyleth says grimly. “We’re leaving _now_.”

“You’re what?” Percy asks. “After all the time you spent trying to get here?”

Grog reaches forward and Percy flinches hard, no doubt remembering the axe that had been coming for his face. Grog frowns but grabs him and drags him into the circle.

“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?!”

Ephraim barks and muscles in between Grog and Trinket. She licks Percy’s hand and he twists to look down at her, “Ephraim, what’s going -”

There’s a familiar magical tug in Scanlan’s stomach and Percy’s protests are lost in the whirlwind of magic that is Plane Shifting as Keyleth takes them all home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE THANK YOU TO ALISHA FOR BETAING THIS FUCKING MONSTER OF A CHAPTER


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry this took so long. I got really stuck on a few parts of it but once I broke through those, it came out smoothly. This was originally intended to be a longer chapter but it was so overdue that I figured I'd save the parts I left out for next chapter. As always, thanks to Alisha for beta-ing for me and thanks to Tanoraqui for helping to motivate me.

Percival has only plane shifted twice before and it remains just as nauseating as he remembers. It is not helped by the intense terror of knowing that this time, Artagan isn’t with him.

The goliath has him pinned to his side with one big arm and while his grip isn’t painful, it is very much unbreakable. Percival is not, nor has he ever been, one for combat. He’s not strong and he has neither a weapon nor the skills to use them if he acquired one. He’s defenseless against seven strangers who have managed to kidnap him out from under his master’s nose.

Well - he’s not entirely defenseless. He has Ephraim. And he has his mind, the only weapon he’s ever needed in the Feywild.

Of course, when the whirling colors stop, he isn’t in the Feywild anymore.

The colors are... drab. Everything is _dull_ in the material plane, despite having more light to illuminate it. All of Percival’s senses seem muted and what he does sense feels almost artificial compared to the Feywild.

They’ve landed in what appears to be a courtyard behind a dreary looking castle. There’s a young human guard staring at them incredulously. He’s clad mostly in leathers with a sword at his hip and a shield on his back. There’s some sort of symbol emblazoned across his armor - a thick tree with a sun above it and, bizarrely, stars below it.

The half-elven woman in the oversized coat points a finger at the guard, “Asher, how long have we been gone?”

The guard jumps and splutters. “I just saw you yesterday, Lady Vex.”

Lady? She must be the ruler of this castle then. Percival makes a mental note of it. She hasn’t seemed to like him much so far, but she may be the most useful person to try and curry favor with.

Surely she could afford to hire a tailor for that coat though.

“Good. Go inform Cassandra that we’ve returned.”

The guard gives a sharp, hasty bow and says, “Of course, my lady,” before hurrying off.

“So we didn’t lose any time?” the female gnome asks.

“It seems that way,” says the woman who plane shifted them. “No telling how much time we could have lost if we stayed though.”

The female gnome pats her hand, “We know. You did the right thing.”

“Yes, you’re all marvelous kidnappers,” Percival snaps, drawing all eyes back to him. “You’ve wasted no time at all in stealing from an Archfey. I do hope you realize this won’t end well for you.”

The woman - a druid he’d guess, by her staff and her attire - flushes angrily, “You think _we’re_ the thieves?”

The male half elf that he had briefly met before places a hand on her shoulder. “Kiki, we knew he’d be like this,” he says softly.

The second gnome claps his hands together brightly. “So! You deserve an explanation. We did not kidnap you. Artagan let us leave with you, as unlikely as that might seem to you.”

“ _Why?_ ”

The gnome pauses. “Or... does that _not_ seem unlikely to you?”

“Lord Artagan is an Archfey and given to strange whims, but he usually at least provides an explanation,” Percival snarls.

“Uh huh. Does he do that uh - thing? Very often?”

Percival glares down at the gnome irritably. The goliath still hasn’t released him.

“The thing where he -” the gnome taps his own temple and mimes going limp.

“No,” Percival says icily. “That was something rather new and seems to be because of you.”

“You don’t find that at all suspicious?” asks the female gnome.

“I find you all _exceedingly_ suspicious.”

The male gnome waves his hand dismissively, “That’s fair. Anyway, the point is, we didn’t steal you from Artagan, Artagan stole you from us and wiped your memories -”

Percival snorts in disbelief.

“- and we bargained to get you back for a certain length of time to try and restore your memories, along with some fuzzy details that don’t really matter.”

“I find it’s the fuzzy details that tend to matter the most,” Percival says, but doesn’t ask for those details because anyone making a deal with an _Archfey_ must have at least some trick up their sleeves and was unlikely to admit it.

He’s also a bit distracted because there’s a woman standing on the parapets above them. Percival notices her out of the corner of his eye but he has spent too many years in a Fey court to give any sign that he’s aware of her presence. Without looking at her directly, the only thing he can make out about her is that she must be an older woman due her long, white hair and that she is actually quite good at going unseen. She lurks in the shadows of the towers around her without really lurking in a way that would draw the eye if you did notice her.

And indeed, of the group that took him, only the woman the guard referred to as “Lady Vex” seems to notice their eavesdropper, glancing up at her with a quick movement of her eyes and then otherwise ignoring her.

“And how long exactly am I to be stuck here while you play your little game with Lord Artagan?”

About half of them wince and glare at the male half elf who sighs heavily and says, “One year.”

Even if he’d been given advance warning, Percival isn’t sure he could have stopped himself from bursting into laughter.

Everyone in the courtyard, as well as the woman on the parapets, jumps and stares at him in surprise. The goliath holding him is so startled that he loosens his grip enough for Percival to twist out of his grasp, still laughing. He doesn’t go far - there’s nowhere to go anyway - and the goliath makes no move to grab him again. The laughter quickly turns to coughing and Percival forces himself to get it under control.

Still intermittently giggling, he asks, “What - _hah_ \- what exactly do you think you’re going to accomplish in only a _year_?”

The male half elf scowls deeply, “You know, here on the material plane, we consider a year to be a pretty decent length of time.”

Percival puts on his most patronizing smile, the one he knows is utterly infuriating, learned from long years of watching Artagan preside over a Fey court. “Well, in the Feywild it isn’t. We picked up Kudzu a decade back and we still haven’t had a spy from another Fey court check in on us recently enough to know about him yet.”

“How long you been there?” the goliath asks.

Percival shrugs, still smiling like an asshole, “Not very long by Fey standards. Only a few hundred years.”

He’s expecting them to be shocked. He’s not expecting most of their faces to contort in _rage_ and for the druid to tilt her head back and bark a furious blast of fire out of her mouth. “I hate him _so fucking much_ ,” she snarls, more at the sky than any of them.

Only the goliath doesn’t seem angry and then only because he looks confused. “I ain’t so good with the numbers thing. That’s higher than 10, right?”

Percival stares at him. “...Yes. Yes, it’s rather a lot higher than 10.”

The goliath considers this, then nods. “Aight. That sucks.”

“Well, it was fine for me. You might not have enjoyed it so much.”

“Okay! Okay,” the male gnome says, drawing everyone’s attention back. “So we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us, we knew that going in. It doesn’t matter how long you spent there, what matters is that we have you here for a year to try and fix this. Any questions?”

“Several, but let’s get the most pertinent one out of the way first, shall we?” Percival drawls. “Who are you people and where are we?”

The woman on the parapets leaves so abruptly that he can’t help but flick his eyes up to her as she goes. He refocuses quickly back on the group, unsure if any of them saw him noticing their spy.

All of them look hurt and trying to cover it up, which some of them accomplish better than others.

The Lady recovers first, as is appropriate for a noble. In a steely voice, she says, “This is the city of Whitestone and you’ll be staying in Whitestone Castle. I’m Vex’ahlia and -”

She hesitates, perhaps unsure as to whether to indicate her title or not? She’s already being more familiar with him than he expected of a noblewoman. Her eyes sweep over Percival’s face for something she doesn’t appear to find.

“- And I’m going to go see if your room is ready.” She turns and leaves with a hitch in her breath so quiet that Percival half thinks he imagined it.

The bear gives a low, sad whine as he watches her leave. Incapable of speech, Percival notes. He does not leave, however, despite Ephraim’s entire face being buried in his side. The afternoon is just starting to dim to dusk and it’s far too bright out for a creature made for the darkness. Even the bear’s dense coat is likely not blocking out as much light as Ephraim would like. Percival rubs her back soothingly and receives a tail wiggle in response.

The male half elf watches Lady Vex’ahlia until she disappears, then turns back to Percival and says, “My name is Vax’ildan. We’re twins, obviously. You can call us Vax and Vex.”

Percival will not be doing that. He reserves nicknames for people he actually likes.

The female gnome sticks her hand out, smiling sadly. “I’m Pike Trickfoot. I’m a cleric of Sarenrae and a healer, so if you find yourself hurt or sick, just drop by the temple in town, okay?”

Percival frowns at her and does not shake her hand. “Am I likely to get hurt here?”

Her eyes widen, “Oh no, not at all. But just in case, you know?”

“I think he’ll be alright around the castle,” the other gnome cuts in. “He’ll have plenty of people watching out for him.”

What an unsubtle threat. These people are amateurs, Percival decides, relaxing somewhat.

“Scanlan Shorthalt, leader of Vox Machina - that’s us by the way - at your service,” the male gnome says with a bow and a flourish that’s only slightly stiff.

“Charmed.”

Scanlan opens his mouth to say something, then closes it with a snap, face twisting unhappily.

The goliath claps a hand on Percival’s shoulder hard enough to make him stagger. “Name’s Grog Strongjaw. You already knew that, but I’ll save you havin’ to remember it for right now. Once we got you fixed up though, you better remember my title.”

Percival grunts in displeasure under the weight of Grog’s hand. “ _You’re_ titled?”

“I am,” Grog says grandly, waving his other hand. “Ain’t tellin’ you though. You gotta remember it.”

“I’d imagine I could just ask someone.”

“Nope, s’a secret.”

“Of course it is,” Percival mutters.

He’s focused on the goliath (the biggest physical threat, though clearly not the biggest mental threat) but he can see the druid slowly approaching him out of the corner of his eye. Percival has spent a great deal of time dealing with fey who think him much less observant than he is and it seems that’s a trend that’s going to continue. He waits until she’s just close enough, then turns abruptly to face her.

She jumps, which is gratifying. She also ignites her hands, which is far less so. She and Percival jerk away from one another almost in unison. Grog catches Percival with a hand on his back, but while Vax’ildan moves to steady the druid, he hesitates and she catches herself before he needs to. She shakes her hands and the fire goes out, never seeming to realize that Vax’ildan is behind her at all.

“I’m - I’m sorry about that. It’s just instinct at this - nevermind. It doesn’t matter, my name is Keyleth.” Keyleth does not offer a hand for him to shake, which is good because he wasn’t going to whether they were on fire or not. Instead, she wrings her hands and continues, “I’m the headmistress of the Air Ashari and I won’t be able to be here as often as I’d like. I’ll probably be in and out of Whitestone but I promise if you need me, I’ll be here as fast as I can. I just can’t stay away from my people indefinitely.”

"A year,” Percival corrects. “You have a year of my time, not ‘indefinitely.’”

Keyleth swallows heavily and behind her, Vax’ildan winces. “Right. Yeah, sorry. One year. I forgot,” she says.

There’s an awkward silence.

Eventually, Scanlan claps his hands together, “Alright so, shall we go see if Cass got your room set up?”

Percival raises an eyebrow. “You’re missing an introduction,” he says with a pointed glance back at the bear. “It’s quite rude of you to ignore him just because he can’t speak for himself.”

Said bear looks up at him, opens his mouth, and lets his tongue loll out in a very bear-ish grin that Percival is accustomed to seeing on Hram. It’s the first indication of happiness he’s seen on any of them since they met. Percival decides that he likes him already - he’s more pleasant than the rest of this boorish crew - so he gives the bear a short but respectful bow.

Scanlan blinks rapidly at him, opens his mouth, then closes it silently.

Pike stifles a giggle behind her hand. “That’s Trinket. He’s Vex’s son. She could tell you more about him.”

“Thank you,” he says, and while he does not bow to her, he inclines his head towards her in gratitude. She beams at him in return and he files that away for later.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Scanlan grumbles, “Now let’s go inside.”

Trinket levers himself up off the ground with a grumble (his muzzle is almost all gray, Percival notes), and Ephraim follows him with a whine.

Keyleth frowns and pulls the bandana around Pike’s neck free with a gentle tug. Pike glances up at her but Keyleth folds it into a long strip and crouches in front of Ephraim.

“Ephraim, right? Here, just for a bit.”

Ephraim pulls her head away from Trinket and Keyleth quickly covers her eyes with the bandana. It’s meant for someone gnome sized so she can only barely tie it under Ephraim’s chin.

“Sorry,” Keyleth says, “I don’t think that will work for long but it might at least give us time to figure something out for her.” She says it more to Percival than Ephraim, which is rude.

As it stands, Percival suspects that the light petering in through the bandana is still enough to bother Ephraim. But it is a start and neither Ephraim nor Trinket will be able to walk easily with her head stuffed into his armpit. Percival trails his fingers up Ephraim’s back to the nape of her neck where he rubs lightly.

“I suppose it’s my turn to lead you, dear.”

Trinket sets off and Percival takes that as his cue to follow, the rest of Vox Machina immediately moving with him like the most bizarre honor guard Percival has ever had, which is saying something given that he’s spent his life living in a Fey court.

The guards don’t watch as they pass, in a very pointed manner that indicates that they badly _want_ to be watching Vox Machina’s little procession. All of the guards stare straight ahead of themselves with nearly comical rigidness. Percival keeps track of the guards’ locations as they move inside the castle. A few of them patrol, but many seem to maintain static locations and there’s value in knowing both where the castle guards are and where they aren’t.

Most of the guards, Percival observes, are human. There’s a handful of other races - a half elf here, a half orc there, one _titanic_ silver dragonborn positioned in the main foyer who completely fails to follow the unspoken rule that they aren’t supposed to be staring at Percival. His large green eyes track Percival’s every movement from the instant he comes into view to the moment he leaves it.

Everyone in the material plane is so unsubtle.

The castle itself is not much to look at it. Compared to Artagan’s palace, it’s practically a hovel, but it’s not like Percival could have expected mortals to craft something on the level of an Archfey. It’s clean at least, though it’s clean in the manner of a home cleaned by servants rather than by magic, with small missed spots here and there - specks of grime in the stonework and stains on the edges of tapestries and paintings.

And speaking of which, there aren’t as many of those as he expected to see. There’s very little artwork or decoration at all, honestly. The only thing of note in the main foyer is a half charred tapestry that appears to be depicting a family tree, but it’s burned in so many places that it seems useless for actually tracking genealogy. They’re moving too quickly through the castle for him to get more than a glance at it but at the top of the tapestry, he can see the lower half of the same crest that is on all the guards’ armor. Everything above that is burned away.

There’s a scattering of other things in the hallways. A handful of art pieces (none of them depicting people), a bust of some human, a statue of a raven made from green glass, and what stands out most to Percival - a large ornamental plaque with five dragon scales on it, one for each of the chromatic colors.

Small wonder they almost killed Kudzu. They’re a pack of dragon hunters. Percival’s estimation of their skills rises even as his opinion of them dips.

Eventually they come to a T intersection and while Vax’ildan and Grog start to head for the right, Trinket sniffs the air and takes a left. Ephraim has been mostly pressed up against Percival’s legs but she lowers her head to snuffle at the ground momentarily, then promptly turns to follow Trinket. Percival doesn’t hesitate to go their way and Scanlan and Pike follow along at his heels.

Behind him, he hears Keyleth stop at the intersection, calling out a soft “Hey,” in the other direction, and the resulting noises of confusion from Vax’ildan and Grog.

Trinket is moving at a brisk pace so Percival only barely hears Vax’ildan say, “But the guest rooms are -?” before they’re out of earshot. The three of them don’t catch up.

The room Trinket eventually leads them to is in a more heavily guarded portion of the castle. Casually loitering outside of the room is a short and lean blonde man slouching against the wall behind him, one arm resting on the hilt of a dagger in his belt. He’s wearing a hooded cloak despite being indoors, though he at least has the decency to have the hood down. The man doesn’t straighten up as they pass him and in fact, he completely ignores them. The group pays him no mind either as they enter the room Trinket leads them into, but Percival commits his face to memory, just in case.

Inside the room is Lady Vex’ahlia and the woman from the parapets. They’re talking quietly but Trinket announces himself with a loud grunt as soon as they enter and both women stop their conversation to look up.

Now that he can actually get a better look at her, the woman from the parapets is younger than he thought. Her hair is a solid white and wrinkles line her face, but she isn’t _old_ , not even by human standards. Her eyes are bright and sharp, and there is something familiar about the structure of her face, though he can’t place where he’s seen it before.

As soon as she sees Percival, her posture goes stiff and she says, “My name is Cassandra de Rolo.”

De Rolo. Where has he heard that before? Something about it buzzes at the back of his mind.

“I’ve had this room prepared for the duration of your stay here. If it is not to your satisfaction however, another can be found for you.”

She is the very definition of politeness but something in her tone indicates to Percival that she is waiting for a specific answer. Percival glances around the room and nothing about it strikes him as off. It’s a moderately sized room with a cozy looking bed, a few bookshelves, and a writing desk. It’s impeccably clean, which likely means it had been dusty and unused until they decided he’d be set up in it. Granted it’s in a heavily guarded interior section of the castle with no windows, but he doubts they were ever going to put him anywhere with a preponderance of potential exits and a lack of guards.

“There seems to be nothing wrong with this room, so I don’t see why I should trouble you for a different one,” Percival says after studying the room.

Cassandra doesn’t react to his statement in any meaningful way (finally, someone in this castle that he can’t read like an open book - Percival likes her immediately) but the corner of Lady Vex’ahlia’s mouth twitches unhappily. It’s the wrong answer apparently, but he doesn’t know why they were expecting him to be rude about a perfectly acceptable room.

Behind him, he can hear Scanlan whisper just a touch too loudly to Pike, “I don’t think I’ve ever been in here before,” followed by a grunt that sounds like him getting elbowed.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Cassandra says calmly, “though you may certainly consider that a standing offer, should you change your mind.”

“Of course.”

“Dinner will be prepared shortly and while I can’t imagine what sort of day you’ve had, I can tell you that it has been exhausting for everyone else,” Cassandra tells him. “You are welcome to join us in the dining hall of course, but I can also have your meal brought to you here if you would prefer solitude for the remainder of the evening.”

Percival considers. Attending dinner in the dining hall would allow him to meet any other important players in this castle, as well as expand his mental map of it. On the other hand, it isn’t as though he’s going to be here for that long. It’s hardly worth his time to get involved in a new political game when he has only a year to partake in it. And besides, staying in his room will allow him to judge just how much “solitude” they intend to allow him.

“It has been a rather… trying day. You’ll forgive me if I choose to remain in here for now.”

Cassandra nods, still no indication of emotion on her face. She’s going to be a fun one. “And what should I have brought up for your companion?”

Percival glances at Ephraim, who has settled in the dimmest corner of the room. He’ll have to extinguish most of these candles for her comfort, but fortunately the lack of windows means the room can be as dark as possible even during the day. Despite that, he knows Ephraim is going to have an unhappy time in the material plane despite his best efforts. For her benefit, he decides to press his luck and their hospitality. “Ephraim will eat anything, though she prefers meat if you have it.”

Lady Vex’ahlia raises an eyebrow. “‘If we have it?’” she repeats, confused. “There is hardly a shortage of meat in Whitestone.”

Ephraim perks up with clear interest, still blindfolded but narrowing in on the sound of her voice.

Cassandra cocks her head slightly, glancing at Ephraim and then back to Percival. “Do you eat meat as well, Percival?”

Now Percival is the one who is confused. “I enjoy meat when it is available, yes,” he admits. “Most Fey do not partake of it, outside of lesser Fey like trolls or fomorians. It is rarely on offer in a Fey court.”

“Whitestone is surrounded by dense woods with no end of game and our hunters are peerless,” Lady Vex’ahlia says with a wave of her hand.

“They were trained by the best,” Cassandra agrees. “If you and - Ephraim was it? - would like meat, then that is an easy enough request to fill.”

“Thank you. Ephraim and I appreciate that,” Percival says and is surprised when he realizes that he means it.

“If you have any other requests, feel free to ask. Even if your request is something we are unable to accommodate, perhaps we can find a work around,” Cassandra says. “As it stands, I will send dinner up to you shortly and I hope your evening is a pleasant one.”

She sweeps out of the room with the air of a woman more accustomed to dismissing others from her presence than leaving theirs. Percival wonders what her place in Whitestone is. She had made no mention of a title, yet she behaved more like a noblewoman than the Lady of the castle. Perhaps she was usurped and kept around as a show of strength? No Fey Lord would ever allow a rival Lord to remain alive in their court, even deposed, but mortals were a foolhardy bunch.

With Cassandra’s exit, Percival is left with Lady Vex’ahlia, her son, and the gnomes, who it turns out have been having a furious conversation entirely in gestures that neither of them seem to fully understand. As soon as Percival turns enough to notice it, Pike and Scanlan stop abruptly and put on innocent faces.

“I’ll handle things from here,” Lady Vex’ahlia says testily. “Why don’t you two go get something to eat?”

Pike frowns but Scanlan grabs her arm and makes a swift exit, saying “Sounds like a great idea Vex! C’mon Pike, let’s go get some grub, I’m starving,” as he all but drags Pike out of the room behind him.

Percival turns back to Lady Vex’ahlia. “Was there anything else that required handling? It all seems well sorted for the moment.”

She stares at him for a long moment, studying his face. “I know you don’t believe any of this and that’s - that’s fine. I can’t blame you. It’s nearly unbelievable to me too. But I need you to understand that we’re going to do everything in our power to restore your memories, whether you think you’ve lost any or not.”

“This would be an entirely pointless exercise if you didn’t, I suppose,” Percival says with a shrug. “What exactly do you intend to do?”

“We don’t know yet,” she admits. “But we have a lot of favors we can call in and we’re going to spend the next week or so calling in all of them.”

Both of Percival’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. A favor is a priceless commodity and to cash in _all_ of them on him - Vox Machina isn’t playing. They truly believe he’s a missing friend who has lost his memories. He feels rather bad for them, putting so much effort into the wrong person.

Lady Vex’ahlia notices his reaction but misinterprets it, “I know. We just got you here and we’re already leaving you for a week. It is strange.”

“Not at all. You haven’t much time to dawdle.”

Her mouth thins into a line. “No, we haven’t,” she says, quietly enough that Percival thinks that perhaps he wasn’t meant to hear it. She takes a deep breath and says louder, “Trinket will be staying here with you. I’m aware you can’t speak with him but I assure you, he can understand you just fine.”

Trinket grunts in agreement.

“If there’s anywhere you’d like to go, he’d be happy to take you, and if there’s anything you need, he’ll do his best or he’ll take you to someone who can help.”

“I already have one shadow,” Percival gestures to Ephraim, “you think I need a second one?”

She snorts in a rather unladylike fashion. “It’s not about what _you_ need, it’s about _my_ peace of mind.”

“Fair enough,” Percival gives a sardonic half bow.

Lady Vex’ahlia’s mouth quirks upwards. “You’re an ass,” she says, but it sounds almost fond.

“You kidnapped me,” he points out.

She makes a noncommittal noise. “We’ll see. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Percy.”

“It’s Percival,” he calls after her as she leaves, but she doesn’t acknowledge him. Rude.

The door closes behind her and he sighs. He turns back to Trinket, who remains sitting on a fluffy rug in the middle of the room, gazing up at him.

“You don’t even have the decency to wait outside, do you?”

Trinket responds by opening his mouth in a huge yawn and hunkering down, perfectly comfortable where he is.

Percival rolls his eyes and moves around the room, pinching out all but the smallest candle. “So much for solitude.” He goes to remove the makeshift blindfold from Ephraim but as he passes Trinket, the armor catches his attention.

He’d noticed Trinket was wearing armor of course, it was difficult to miss. But he’d also had two gnomes riding on his back, obscuring it, and then Percival had been kidnapped and he’d not paid much attention to the design of the armor.

Percival reaches a hand out to touch the plate. He had thought it was metal but under his fingers, it’s clear that it’s closer to dense, metallic hide. Not dragon scale, but similar perhaps. The plates were cut to fit around Trinket’s mass but none of them had any indication of being stitched together so each of the plates were solid pieces, carefully interlocked to provide protection without sacrificing mobility.

The armor had been cleverly designed but that wasn’t the source of Percival’s interest in it.

“I’ve seen this before,” Percival says, voice barely above a whisper.

Trinket’s ears twitch towards him and he rolls onto his side, exposing the straps on his belly that keep the armor in place.

“Do you want this off?” Percival asks.

Trinket huffs and paws at the strap, not quite clawing at it but with clear intent.

The armor is held in place with a series of complex straps that both keep the plate on Trinket and keep the various plates together without actually welding them together. It takes a bit of trial and error to figure out what order they need to be unlatched in if he actually wants to remove the entire thing. It takes the better part of 15 minutes in order to completely remove the armor, not helped by the fact that Percival can’t stop staring at it.

He’s seen it before, he knows he has - he’d been working on a little statuette of it before someone in the palace nicked it. But he can’t think of _where_ he’s seen it. Surely it isn’t unique, a clever design like that. Any war animal would be lucky to have such well made protection. Perhaps he saw it when Artagan took him to the material plane last time? That must be it.

Eventually, Percival gets all of the armor off of Trinket and he stacks it in a corner for a servant to remove later. Trinket makes several distinct grunts of pleasure and rolls on his back on the rug, wriggling to scratch any itches he’d gotten from the armor. Percival leaves him to it and finally gets to Ephraim, like he’d intended.

“Sorry dear, I was distracted.”

Ephraim gives him a soft and forgiving whuff, wagging her tail when Percival gets the blindfold off.

“We’re going to have to think of something better for you. It’s awfully bright here and we haven’t even seen it in the daytime yet. A flimsy little blindfold isn’t going to cut it.”

He moves to sit on the bed and Ephraim sits up to rest her head on his knee. She’s notably facing away from the one remaining lit candle. He is _really_ going to have to do something about that.

Percival heaves a great sigh. “We’re going to be here for just long enough for it to be very irritating, I think. And I’m not much sold on the company yet. But I suppose Artagan has his reasons. We’ll just have to wait and see.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, wouldn't it be cool if I updated more frequently than once a month? It'd also be cool if these chapters stopped being over 8k words but apparently I can't control that because people won't stop trying to talk to Percy.

Percival isn’t accustomed to keeping a schedule, but he is accustomed to being woken up abruptly whenever Artagan decides to demand his presence. As such, the knock on his door the next morning is irritating but less disorienting than it might have otherwise been.

He fumbles for his glasses on the unfamiliar nightstand that’s just slightly farther away than his sleepy mind expects it to be. Ephraim gives a half-hearted growl from her corner of the room and Trinket yawns, but neither seem any more prepared to get up than Percival. He puts back on his pants from the previous day due to a lack of other clothes and he finds his way to the door by the thin streams of light creeping in from the bottom of it. He wrenches it open, wincing when the morning light hits his eyes.

Outside his door stands the blonde man from the previous night, looking amused. “Not a morning person either, are we?”

Percival squints at him. “I don’t think anyone likes waking up. What do you want?”

The blonde man inclines his head politely and says, “My name is Kynan Leore. I’m the Captain of the Paleguard here in Whitestone.”

“Are you?” Percival asks with genuine surprise, “You look more like a thief.”

Kynan blinks and rocks back on his heels. He glances down at his own clothes, then back up to Percival.

“You’re not even wearing a - the uh, the insignia?” Percival makes a gesture with his hands to indicate a tree.

“I… mostly run the evening guard shift,” Kynan says, apparently caught off guard. “It’s not usually part of my job description to look fancy unless we’re entertaining guests.”

Percival stares at him.

“You’re not really - yes, alright, technically you are a guest of Whitestone Castle,” Kynan rolls his eyes. “And as a guest, I should inform you that breakfast is nearly over and Cassandra is requesting your presence in the dining hall.”

Now it’s Percival’s turn to be caught off guard. “You woke me up for breakfast?”

“Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe even creatures of the Feywild have to eat,” Kynan said dryly.

“Yes, but - nevermind.” Percival runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Is there a chance I can get some clean clothes? It’s not as though I had time to pack.”

Kynan peers around Percival to the inside of his room and points at the wardrobe against the wall. “Does that not have your clothes in it?”

“I assure you I investigated every inch of this room last night. The wardrobe and dresser are both very much empty.”

Kynan frowns. “They must have been sent to the wrong room. If you don’t mind going down to breakfast in your previous clothes, I’ll tell a servant and they’ll have your clothing in the proper place when you return.”

Percival yawns into his elbow and decides it isn’t worth being picky about. “That will be fine. Are you sure they’ll fit me?”

Kynan responds with a pointed, “They’re _your_ clothes,” and Percival sighs.

“Fine, thank you, I’ll be down in a minute.” Percival shuts the door in his face, returning the room to near blackness. Ephraim is entirely invisible with the lack of light but he can see the outline of Trinket stretching and starting to rise to his feet to face the morning.

Percival locates his shirt, socks, and shoes with only a little effort. While tying his shoelaces, Ephraim appears at his side as a sudden weight against his leg. He ruffles her ears and says, “Apparently they wake you up for breakfast here, Eph. I suppose it’s because they have a day and night cycle. We’ll have to get used to that.”

Once he finishes dressing, he wraps the bandana around Ephraim’s eyes again. He frowns at it even as he ties it under her chin. “I’ll see if I can find you something better today, but it’s that or stay in here.”

Ephraim huffs and shakes her head, careful not to dislodge the bandana.

“Yes, that’s what I thought.” Percival shifts his attention to Trinket, who is waiting patiently. “I assume you can lead us to the dining hall?”

Trinket grunts in assent and paws at the door knob, which fails to turn.

Percival rises up from his seat on the bed and opens the door for him. “It’s quite rude that these doors aren’t designed for your usage. I would have thought your mother would have seen to that.”

Trinket shrugs his big shoulders and ambles down the hall while Percival follows, absently musing on door knobs that a bear could utilize.

Even as distracted as he is, Percival keeps track of the hallways he’s lead down, marking each twist and turn in his head. Percival intends to know this castle inside and out by the end of the week. He doesn’t mind Trinket’s presence, but he doesn’t care much for the idea of being under constant watch. The sooner he learns how to slip his leash, the better.

Trinket doesn’t lead them very far from their room. Percival isn’t quite sure what he’s expecting in terms of breakfast in Whitestone Castle’s dining hall. In the Feywild, time was a nebulous concept and “breakfast” was simply what you ate when you first woke up, whenever that happened to be. Breakfast typically consisted of fruits and berries, possibly grits or fresh bread with honey or jam if he felt the desire for something warm.

He’s not expecting to walk into the dining hall and be immediately struck by the smell of sausages.

“You have meat even for breakfast?” Percival blurts out.

Cassandra raises an eyebrow at him and fortunately enough, she seems to be the only person in the room to witness his embarrassing outburst. The table is set for a number of other people that all appear to have left. In addition to the sausages, there’s eggs and bacon on the table. There’s little of it remaining but even what is left would be a lavish spread back home.

Ephraim darts forward, claws clicking against the stone floor as she follows her nose to the table. She bumps into an unoccupied chair but it hardly curbs her excitement. Cassandra picks up a sausage from her own plate and hands it to Ephraim, who greedily swallows it down.

“Not every morning, but Vox Machina set out from Whitestone today so I thought to give them a nice parting meal.”

Percival seats himself in the empty chair across from Cassandra and fills a plate with a number of sausages. He glances around but doesn’t see any table low enough for Ephraim, so he’s forced to set the plate on the floor. Trinket is tall enough, if he sits up properly, to eat directly from the table so Percival can’t fault them for not having an especially low place setting. Once Ephraim is situated, Percival fills his own plate, Cassandra watching him all the while.

“Have you and Ephraim been friends for a long time?” She asks once he’s filled his own plate.

Percival considers the question. “For a long time? Not really. Ephraim is the second newest resident to the palace, after Kudzu. We were fast friends once we met, neither of us being Feywild natives. And for what it’s worth, yes, I’m well aware that I am human and humans are not from the Feywild. I can see where all of this,” he gestures between himself and her with his fork, “comes from. I don’t think I’m the person you’re looking for, but I understand the mistake.”

“I appreciate your patience on the subject.”

“It’s not as though I’ve much to complain about. If nothing else, I suppose it’s an educative experience. I’m already learning things about the material plane that I didn’t know.”

“Would you be interested in visiting the library then?”

Percival chokes on his eggs. Of _course_ a castle would have a library. Surely it wouldn’t be as extensive as Artagan’s, but Percival doesn’t need rare tomes as much as he needs something - _anything_ \- he hasn’t read before.

He rushes to finish swallowing his food and respond, but Cassandra’s mouth twitches in the faintest approximation of a smile. “I’ll take that as a yes. After breakfast then.”

It takes all of Percival’s self control not to just shovel everything into his mouth like a swamp troll in an effort to get to the library faster. He forces himself to eat at the speed that propriety demands but he wastes no more time on small talk with Cassandra. She seems no more inclined to converse with him and instead spends her time filling a plate for Trinket. When she’s done with that, she folds her hands into her lap and waits patiently.

Between Ephraim and Trinket, there are quickly no sausages left on the table and Percival finishes the last of the eggs and bacon himself. It’s a heavier meal than he’s accustomed to eating when he first wakes up, but it sits warm and pleasant in his stomach.

Almost as soon as Percival has finished eating and is about to ask for directions to the library, two servants appear and begin clearing the table of dishes. One of them bows to Cassandra and says, “Will there be anything else, Lady Cassandra?”

“No, that will be all, thank you.”

The servant nods and continues clearing away plates, but he hesitates when he gets to Ephraim’s. Ephraim stares blindly in his direction, the bandana over her eyes making her no less intimidating. There’s a long pause before Ephraim ducks her head, presses down on one side of the plate with a big paw so that it tilts upwards, then grips the other side of the plate in her teeth and brings it up to the servant with perfect manners and grace. The servant laughs, takes the plate, and bows politely to her before scurrying off.

Percival’s brow furrows and Cassandra quirks an eyebrow at him. “Not many people here have seen a creature from the Plane of Shadows before. You can hardly blame people for being intimidated by her.”

He glances at Ephraim, then back to her. “Ah, no. I understand that.” He mulls over his thoughts for a moment and she looks impassive as she waits. “ _Lady_ Cassandra, he called you?”

If she’s offended by the question, she gives no hint. “I suppose no one thought to mention it to you then? Yes, I am the Lady of the castle.”

“But the guards were referring to Vex’ahlia as ‘Lady’ as well.”

Cassandra - Lady Cassandra, apparently- rises from her seat and gestures for him to follow her but does not wait for him to do so before she begins to leave. Trinket lumbers to his feet after her and Ephraim darts under the table to the other side in order to follow at his heels. Percival rises hastily and keeps a respectful distance.

He would be cursing himself for making such a grave mistake but honestly, he had guessed that Cassandra was nobility. He had simply assumed she was _former_ nobility. And why wouldn’t he? Why would there be more than one noble in a given household? This makes no sense. What in the world are mortals even doing?

Cassandra leads him to a library that isn’t too far from the room he’s been given, assuming his mental map is correct. A patrolling guard passes them in the hallway with a salute but there are no guards stationed immediately outside or inside the library.

It’s not a very big library, all things considered. There’s a fireplace set against one wall with a plush couch and a large wingback chair near it, with a table between them. There is also a desk underneath a window in the opposite wall with a much more plain chair resting next to it. The desk is well stocked with ink, quills, and parchment on top of it, but it doesn’t appear recently used.

“If you’re interested in the history of Whitestone, then you are more than welcome to research it yourself,” Cassandra says as they enter, gesturing to the bookshelves. “In short, however, Whitestone Castle belongs to the de Rolo family, of which I am the head. Vex’ahlia is a baroness of Whitestone city and has her own manor in town, so the guards are not wrong to refer to her as Lady Vex’ahlia, confusing though it may sound. Whitestone, on the whole, is ruled by a Council. Both myself and Vex are members of the Council.”

“Who are the other members of the Council?” Percival asks. No Fey could ever rule by council - they were too prideful to share power - and the concept fascinates him.

“Keeper Andrei of the temple of Erathis, Keeper Basra of the temple of Pelor, the former Captain of the Guard, Duke Jarrett Howarth, and my husband, Danaar de Rolo.”

“And the rest of Vox Machina?”

“I may take their input into consideration, but aside from Vex’ahlia, Vox Machina does not live in Whitestone and they have no seat on my Council,” Cassandra says. “They make their homes elsewhere. They are only here for you.”

Percival nods slowly. “That’s kind of them.”

“I have had my share of fights with Vox Machina over the years, but they have never been any less than heroes to this city and guardians of the de Rolo family.”

De Rolo. He keeps hearing that name. _De Rolo_.

Percival snaps his fingers as it clicks in his mind and he points at Cassandra urgently. “When I first met them in the Feywild, I introduced myself and Keyleth called me some long name. I don’t remember it all, but it ended in de Rolo. Do they think I’m some lost member of your house?”

Cassandra’s face does - something. Percival is hard pressed to assign a particular emotion to the way her features twitch but it doesn’t strike him as pleasant. Have they brought Percival here to compete with her as the heir? That seems a bizarre game to play in only a year’s time, especially if Cassandra isn’t the sole ruler of the town and Vox Machina already has a member on the Council and an heir to that position anyway.

“I was the youngest of seven children,” Cassandra says when she has schooled her face back into a neutral expression. “All of my siblings were killed, save for one, in a coup. My brother and Vox Machina overthrew them in turn a few years later. Then Vox Machina took the last of my family to fight a dragon and save us all - and they came back without him.”

“I -” Percival breaks off his instinctive response and reconsiders it. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m also surprised that you forgave them.”

Cassandra’s gaze on him sharpens. “I don’t know that I ever did - no more than they ever forgave themselves. But he was their brother too. And at some point, hating someone does more harm to you than it does to them.”

“Typically in the Feywild, if you hate someone then you go out of your way to make their lives miserable - until you just kill them,” Percival points out.

Ephraim woofs in agreement from where she’s sitting placidly next to Trinket.

Cassandra’s mouth twists into a bitter smile. “I’ve lived like that before. Take it from someone who’s seen both sides. It’s better this way.” She brushes past him and says, “Enjoy the library, Percival. I’ll have someone send your dinner up.”

The door to the library closes behind her, leaving Percival standing there with Ephraim and Trinket. Trinket sinks down onto the rug next to the unlit fireplace and looks perfectly content there, so Percival guesses that he isn’t much of a reader. Ephraim never took to reading when Percival tried to teach her, so she settles in next to Trinket as well.

“I don’t know why she’s worrying about dinner when we just had breakfast,” Percival says aloud, more to himself than either of them. “What am I going to do, forget to eat?”

He does.

Once Percival has thoroughly ransacked the library for any books containing information on Whitestone itself and any recent history (which is to say, anything more recent than a hundred years ago, as Artagan’s information on the Material Plane was often woefully out of date), he settles into the wingback chair and -

Well. Suffice it to say that by the time Kynan stops by with a plate, Trinket and Ephraim had alternately wandered off and returned multiple times (coordinating with each other to never leave him alone), the light from the windows had disappeared, and Percival had a pile of books stacked on the table, some read, some merely skimmed through, and some heavily earmarked.

Kynan laughs at him, offers him his dinner, and promises him that if he goes to bed, no one will touch his carefully organized stack of books. Percival ignores him and does not go to bed that night, no matter how often Kynan checks in on him.

Cassandra does not seem surprised to find him in the library the next morning. She brings him a plate of fruit and bread, as well as a glass of something hot and dark that isn’t tea but tastes delicious. Her eyebrows shoot up when he asks what it’s called but she tells him that it’s coffee and that it’s good for staying awake. Percival doesn’t need the help staying awake, really, but it’s warm and pleasant and Cassandra has a servant fetch more when he asks.

Cassandra spends perhaps an hour listening to him talk about the things he’s been reading - so far he’s gotten through the books on Whitestone’s history (which ends some fifty years ago, no mention of the coup Cassandra had talked about), a theological treatise on the Sun Tree and its purpose as a gift from Pelor, a firsthand account of the attack on Emon by the Chroma Conclave, a book translated from Marquetian on the history of airships from Ank’harel, and he’s working his way through two huge books on the genealogy of the de Rolo family.

Cassandra sips her coffee and watches his animated gestures, offering little input until he mentions the book on airships. “Do you like airships, Percival?”

“I’d only heard of them in passing but they sound fascinating. What a marvelous combination of magic and engineering.”

She smiles into the rim of her cup. “There’s an airship dock in Whitestone.”

Percival nearly drops the book he’s holding.

“There aren’t any ships docked there at present. Our personal fleet consists of two fast passenger vessels and one large trade vessel, and all three are out. But my husband is an airship captain if you’d care to meet him when he returns from Ank’harel. I’m sure he’d be delighted to talk about airships with you.”

“Would he let me ride one, do you think?” Percival asks, nearly vibrating with excitement.

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t. He takes Khavida on half-day trips around the Sierras all the time.”

“Khavida?”

“My daughter. She shares your fascination with airships. She has dreams of being a captain like her father.”

Percival cocks his head and considers everyone he’s seen so far in Whitestone Castle. None of them stand out as children. “I don’t believe I’ve met your daughter.”

“I haven’t allowed you to meet either of my children,” Cassandra says bluntly. “I don’t delude myself into thinking I can keep them away from you indefinitely, but I wanted to know what sort of person you were these days before I let you near my children.”

He holds his hands up in a pacifying gesture. “Completely understandable. A little caution goes a long way with the Fey.”

“You aren’t Fey,” she says with a frown.

Percival shrugs. “I might as well be to you and everyone else here.”

Cassandra swirls the remaining coffee in her cup and says nothing, staring at him with an unreadable expression. After a long moment, she sets the cup down on the tray and rises from her seat. “Enjoy your readings, Percival. Do try to leave the library at some point today. And if you don’t go to bed tonight, I’ll have Kynan throw you over his shoulder and lock you in your room until you do.”

Her tone is perfectly pleasant, as though it would amuse her to see Kynan do so. It would amuse Percival as well, to demonstrate just how incapable of keeping him prisoner they all were. And also to see small, lithe Kynan attempt to pick him up.

Percival smiles at the thought as Cassandra leaves and he returns to his reading.

By mid afternoon, he’s nearly done with the genealogy books. He’s reading the last chapter of the second volume when he hears the door open but doesn’t hear Trinket’s snuffling, who had left for lunch just a bit ago.

‘ _Frederick de Rolo was wed to Johanna Adderbite that winter after the courageous Johanna saved him from kidnappers on the Silvercut Road during a diplomatic mission to Westruun. Johanna was no noble and was in fact a mercenary of some repute. The marriage was considered scandalous by all the court, but Frederick had eyes for no one else.’_

And scribbled in the same rushed handwriting underneath that, he read.

_‘More scandal: Johanna has given birth to their first child, Julius de Rolo the Second, only five months after they were wed. It is certainly Frederick’s boy by his nose and the color of his hair, but the court is abuzz with rumors, as they are wont to be._ ’

Percival laughs lightly to himself and glances up at the intrusion to find two teenagers pretending to be servants holding trays with lunch. They aren’t doing a very good job of disguising themselves. They’ve acquired servants clothes from someone but neither of them have so much as a lick of a dirt on them and the trays in their hands wobble as they attempt to balance them, heavier than they expected them to be. They’re also clearly wearing necklaces that they’ve tucked under their shirts, not understand that a servant’s shirt is too thin to prevent it from showing through.

Plus both of them are staring at him unabashedly and they have their mother’s striking blue eyes. They’re darker skinned than her, with rounder faces and less of a hardcut jawline. The older of the two is a short and stocky girl with thick black curls tied back out of her face. The younger one, still soft with baby fat, has straight, mousey brown hair cropped short on his head and is nearly the same height as his sister but looks to be in the middle of a growth spurt given the way he can’t quite keep track of where his limbs are, bumping into furniture and walls alike.

Percival sets his book down and points at the girl. “Khavida, right?”

Both of their faces immediately fall.

“Yes, I’m afraid you’ll have to work a little harder than that.” He gestures to the boy. “I don’t believe I’ve heard your name?”

The boy fumbles with his tray and opts to set it down rather than try to keep balancing it. “Percival.”

“Yes, that’s me.”

He shakes his head. “No, that’s me. I’m Percival de Rolo the Fourth.”

Percival blinks at him. “Ah. That’s… awkward. I suppose you were here first though.”

“No,” the boy corrects him again, “You were. You’re the Third.”

Percival stares at him, then down at the genealogy book. He flips forward a few pages and sure enough, penned by a much neater hand is the name that Keyleth called him once. _‘Percival Frederickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the Third was born in the first week of spring, just last month. The unfortunate name is an attempt at appeasement for a few of Lord Frederick’s great uncles who have been rather sour that two children have come and gone with nary a mention of them. Noble politics are so petty sometimes and the only person who will suffer for it is young Percival. Regrettably, I am the one who must teach the boy to pronounce his own name, much less spell it._ ’

“I see. You were named after Lady Cassandra’s brother, Percival. The one they think I am.”

The children nod eagerly.

“Well, sit down then,” he says, gesturing to the couch. “Let’s talk, shall we?’

“We can’t for long,” Khavida says, even as she’s sitting down. “Mother doesn’t know we’re here.”

Percival highly doubts that and it seems so does the other Percival, who gives her a dubious look.

“I don’t suppose you have a nickname, do you? Otherwise this is going to get awfully confusing,” Percival says to the boy once he’s sitting as well.

The boy frowns. “Not really. Auntie Vex always referred to you as Percy and it made her sad to call me that, so I’m just Percival.”

Ah yes, the nickname he had yet to break Vox Machina’s habit of using on him. Percival mulls it over. “Have you got a middle name?”

He shrugs. “My middle name is my father’s name, Danaar.”

“Oh for - nobody gets an original name around here then, do they?”

“My name’s original,” Khavida pipes up. “It’s Marquetian.”

“Is it?” Percival says with interest. “That isn’t a language I’ve ever picked up. What does it mean?”

“Survivor,” the children say at once.

“...I suppose if there’s one thing you want to be, it’s that.”

“Well, actually if you translate it literally, it means ‘One Who Lives,’” the younger Percival says with a wrinkle to his nose. “But colloquially, it’d be ‘Survivor’ even in Marquet and -”

“It’s sort of a long story,” Khavida cuts in. “You could probably ask Mother for it though.”

The other Percival, and he really needs to think of something else to call that boy, rolls his eyes at being interrupted and glances over the back of the couch, then sucks in a sharp breath. Percival himself doesn’t have the best angle from the wingback chair, but he twists to look and spies Ephraim’s back end where she’s been snoozing in a patch of shadow.

“It’s true,” the boy whispers in awe. “You really are from the Feywild.”

Percival hears more than sees Ephraim rise to her feet, the clicking of her nails on the stone floor echoing in the quiet library. She rears up on her back legs and hooks her forelimbs over the back of the couch to sniff both of them with interest. Khavida yelps, but Percival the Fourth coos and immediately reaches out to stroke her.

“Oh you’re _lovely_ ,” the boy sighs happily. He makes a gesture in the air, then taps himself on the chest and a pulse of soft blue energy travels up his throat. When he opens his mouth next, what comes out sounds more like soft yips and whines.

Ephraim’s head whips around towards him and she barks in excitement. What follows is a conversation Percival cannot pretend to follow. Magic has never been a talent he’s possessed.

It doesn’t seem to be a talent Khavida possesses either, given the jealous tilt to her frown.

Percival leans towards her and says quietly, “I’m told you’re a fan of airships as well.”

Khavida turns back to him, eyes wide. “I _love_ airships. Have you ever been on one?”

“I haven’t. Your father captains them?”

“Yes! He’s due back from Ank’harel in about two weeks. Do you want to go flying with us when he comes back?” Khavida is grinning hugely and clutching her hands together against her chest.

Percival grins back at her. “I would be absolutely delighted to.”

“Oh, it’ll be wonderful! The Alabaster Sierras are so pretty at this time of year and you can see the whole town from the sky. I love flying so much - I’m going to be an airship captain like father when I’m older!”

Percival’s smile turns quizzical, “I thought you were the eldest?”

Khavida’s excitement instantly deflates into an exaggerated sigh. “Why does everyone bring that up? I don’t _want_ to be the Lady of Whitestone. It’s not like Mother was the oldest child. Percival - that Percival, that is -,” she says, gesturing behind her to where her brother is still having an animated conversation entirely in barks and whines with Ephraim, “can be the Lord of Whitestone. He’s good with people and animals. He likes listening to people and making friends. I want to go on an _adventure_.”

“Well,” Percival says, taken aback, “I certainly can’t fault you for knowing what you want.”

The door to the library, left partially ajar, swings open wider as Trinket ambles in. He stops when he sees Khavida and the younger Percival sitting on the couch and he gives a loud huff.

Khavida gasps, punches her brother’s leg, and says, “We’re busted, Percival, we gotta go.”

Percival rubs his leg and glares at her, but he sighs and says, “Fine, the spell was wearing off anyway. Bye Ephraim! And bye, uhm, Percival?”

“Goodbye children,” Percival says, waving them off.

They jog past Trinket who grumbles loudly at them, and Percival hears the boy say, “I know, I know,” in response as he passes.

Once they’re gone, Trinket closes the door with his head and cross the room to sit in front of the fireplace again. He stares balefully at Percival until he says, “I didn’t _do_ anything to them. We just talked. And really, I only spoke to Khavida. Ephraim spoke to the boy.”

Ephraim barks and leaps over the back of the couch to settle in next to Trinket, who grunts and lays down, apparently considering the matter settled.

Once the pair of them have quieted and begun their afternoon naps, Percival reopens the genealogy book and flips to the last page.

At the bottom of the page, in small, tightly packed but still neat handwriting, he reads, ‘ _Percival de Rolo the Fourth was born yesterday, praise Sarenrae. I knew the name was coming and it still hurt all of us. But gods, I’m just glad they’re both alive. I had hoped that once Khavida was born, any further pregnancies would be easier on Cassandra but no, she’s lost just as many as she did before. I’ve told her this is it - no more. She’s nearly died too many times trying to bring children into this world._

_Fortunately, Cassandra and Danaar agreed with me. They have ‘an heir and a spare,’ as the nobility say, and they’ll have to be satisfied with that. I could see how unhappy Cassandra looked about it, but I don’t know if it’s because she can’t have more or if she just misses Percy._ ’

“Hmm,” Percival says to himself. “Interesting.”

He turns back to where he left off and continues to read.

And so goes the rest of Percival’s week.

He sleeps that evening but not the next, he reads books on census data, former trade agreements, regional weather patterns, castle blueprints, local flora and fauna, crop yields, an academic dissertation on the nature of morality for Celestials and Fiends, a rude academic rebuttal of said dissertation, a guide to a variety of fiends (with several pages ripped out of it), an ostensibly historical but mostly religious text comparing Whitestone to Hestavar, the Bright City, the heavenly home of Pelor, Erathis, and Ioun, and a _hilariously_ inaccurate guide to the Feywild.

Cassandra arrives every morning with breakfast like clockwork and always seems to know whether he slept or not, even when Kynan hadn’t checked on him the night before. She typically stays for an hour and listens attentively as he talks about the things he’s been reading, even discussing it with him if it’s a topic she’s familiar with. Khavida and the younger Percival also make another appearance later in the week but only to wave a hello at him, leaving again as soon as Trinket spots them and grunts disapprovingly.

Percival is otherwise left entirely alone. None of the guards other than Kynan speak with him and the servants are polite but busy, as well as slightly afraid of Ephraim. Trinket, of course, is no conversationalist and neither is Ephraim, though they appear to at least be getting along well with one another.

It speaks rather well of the Whitestone library that it takes an entire week for Percival to grow bored.

The issue is that he isn’t being socially stimulated. Cassandra speaks with him but she’s good enough at diplomatic games to know that she doesn’t want to play them with him and she refuses to speak on any subject matter related to herself, her children, or her previous family. It isn’t just that she’s evasive about it - she outright won’t engage with him at all if he asks. She has nothing to say that isn’t about the books he’s reading and while the library is much more up to date than Artagan’s, all information pertaining to Whitestone itself stops abruptly some 30 odd years ago. Percival suspects that Cassandra has all of the _current_ census information and general town data for Whitestone somewhere else - and it’s not that he badly wants to read it, because it’s quite dull and he doesn’t - but the sharp break in recordkeeping _must_ have been due to the coup Cassandra mentioned and he can’t find any information on it.

He can’t talk to any of the guards. He can’t even really talk to them about unrelated topics because all of them seem somewhere between afraid of him or in awe, so they’re useless. Servants would be his first choice for gossip but anything he asked them would get back to Cassandra’s ears sooner rather than later. The townsfolk may be his best bet. They’re unlikely to be under specific orders regarding him and it’s equally unlikely that they’re in a position to speak with Cassandra.

And anyway, Percival hasn’t gotten to see the town yet.

When Kynan drops by that evening to see if Percival intends to sleep or not, Percival tells him, “No, I don’t think I will. I’d actually quite like to see the town.”

Kynan is halfway through rolling his eyes when he catches the second part of Percival’s statement and he startles into a more attentive position. “This late at night? I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Percival arches a brow, “Are you telling me your town isn’t safe in the evenings?”

“No, of course it’s safe,” Kynan says, waving a hand. “But it isn’t as though there will be anything to do or see. Everything will be closed up unless you’re set on going to a tavern, in which case there’s a wine cellar in the castle that may be more to your tastes.”

Percival admittedly forgot that humans tend to sleep during the night, but he isn’t about to admit that. “I’d just like to take a look around. And if it’s quiet then so much the better.”

Kynan shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Wait til morning, alright? Or better yet, wait til Vox Machina returns. You wandering off is the last thing they need.”

Ah. Well. If Percival is being _ordered_ to stay inside the castle, that’s different. “And when are they due to return?”

“Couple days, as far as I know. It won’t be long to wait, I promise. I’m going to get back to my rounds, alright?” Kynan waits for a nod from Percival before he leaves the library, closing the door behind him.

Percival twirls a long quill between his fingers and closes his eyes. He has unfortunately spent too much time in the library to have memorized all of the guard patrols. He has a good idea of them, but it isn’t perfect and it’d be risky to sneak out past them. There are a few windows he can think of that would be easy enough to get out of, but he isn’t willing to leave Ephraim behind and Trinket is staring at him like he knows exactly what Percival is thinking, so he’s probably coming as well and neither of them are well suited to climbing out of windows.

He did read the castle blueprints though. It was a public set of blueprints so only the most obvious secret passages were marked on it, of course. But it’s easy enough to read between the lines and see where an inner wall is just a little too wide.

Percival suspects there’s a hidden passage in the library but he hasn’t wanted to spend time looking for it under Trinket’s watchful eye. There’s one not far from the library though, and it’s even on the way back to his room so he has an excuse if a guard spots him. He hasn’t attempted to open it yet but he’s already spotted the mechanism for doing so - a stone half covered by a painting that’s just slightly off colored compared to the rest of the wall - and he can only hope it isn’t especially loud.

Percival gets up from his chair and sets the quill back down on the desk under the window. He nudges Ephraim with his foot and says, “Would you like to go for a walk while it isn’t so bright out?”

Ephraim’s nub tail waggles and she rises to her feet, shaking out the stiffness in her limbs. Predictably, she trots over to Trinket and licks his ears, woofing softly at him to get up. Trinket rises with a groan and follows Percival out of the room.

They pass a patrolling guard in the hallway but he merely scurries by them, patting Trinket on the flank as he goes. Trinket ambles on, seemingly indifferent to this turn of events and uninclined to alert someone to Percival’s pending jailbreak. It’s an otherwise quiet walk to the passageway with the only sound being Trinket’s heavy footfalls and deep breaths. Percival learned how to walk silently long ago and Ephraim only makes noise when she chooses to be corporeal enough to do so.

When Percival reaches the discolored stone, there isn’t a single guard in the hall. There are two of them not far from him around a corner but they don’t patrol and won’t see him unless the door makes more noise than he’d like it to. A quick examination of the stone reveals that the portion of it covered by the painting has enough of a lip to be grabbed and pulled outwards, so he holds his breath and does so.

There’s a faint click and a pause before a section of the wall slides outward and down. It is perfectly silent. Whatever mechanism operates it has been kept in pristine, well oiled condition. Percival will admit to being a little impressed.

Ephraim darts into the passageway, quickly becoming invisible with the lack of light. Trinket huffs and follows her, briefly glancing back over his shoulder at Percival, as though to reassure himself that he was coming, even though it was Percival’s idea. Percival steps into the passageway himself and spies another off-color stone on the inside that appears similarly able to be pulled. Sure enough, the stone wall slides back into place as soon as he pulls it and Percival is left in pitch darkness.

Finally. He bends down to pull the bandana off Ephraim’s eyes and smiles as he hears her shake her head vigorously.

When she’s finished, Ephraim tugs at his sleeve and leads him down the passageway at a jaunty trot, clearly delighted. The passageway dips downwards and continues for longer than Percival expected it to. It clearly doesn’t lead directly out onto the castle grounds. As it continues to slope downwards, he realizes that it likely lets out at the base of the terrace the castle is built on. Which makes sense - a secret passage in a castle is less about confusing guests or allowing rebellious children to wander and more about allowing a resident to survive an attack. The courtyard of the castle would be a battleground. Better to escape into the town or the forest and come back later with reinforcements.

Ephraim tugs sharply on his sleeve to get him to stop walking when they reach the end, and Percival abruptly realizes his error - whatever mechanism opens the tunnel on this end, it will be up to Ephraim to find because Percival can’t see in the dark.

“I don’t suppose either of you see the way out of here?”

Trinket huffs out a breath that sounds an awful lot like a laugh and Percival can hear his claws scratching at the ground. After a moment of scrabbling, his claws apparently catch on something and Percival watches as faint moonlight floods the tunnel and the door swings open on hinges just as silent and well maintained as the inner door. Ephraim whines in annoyance and he pats her flank apologetically but it’s dark enough that she turns her head away when he holds up the bandana questioningly so he shoves it into his pocket with a shrug.

Outside of the tunnel, Trinket noses the door closed again and it seals shut seamlessly aside from a thin crack no different than any other crack in the rocky hillside. Percival makes a note of his surroundings to be sure he can find it again, examining tree positions and distinguishing marks in the rockface. Once confident that he can find his way back into the castle, he turns to Trinket and says, “Alright, which way to the town?”

Trinket grunts and heads south, following the rock wall. The area they’re in is only lightly forested and Percival can see that it gets denser and darker in the opposite direction. He doesn’t hear any predators and he wouldn’t be especially concerned if he did, given Trinket and Ephraim, but it seems clear to him that any secret passage that lets out directly into the forest is much more useful for escape than for playful children or bored guests.

Especially since the walk to town isn’t short. It takes the better part of half an hour before Percival starts seeing faint lights through the trees. They emerge from the woods onto a worn dirt path that leads deeper into the woods in one direction and towards the city walls in the other. It seems to be a well used game trail and the gate it leads to is a small one, guarded by one half-asleep human who squints at Percival but unlocks the gate as soon as he notices Trinket.

“Bit late to be out, innit?” the guard mumbles at him as they walk through.

“Just out for a stroll,” Percival replies with a smile and the guard grunts. He doesn’t seem to notice Ephraim at all, slinking behind Trinket and Percival like their joint shadow.

The inside of the city is fascinating. It’s an _old_ city, that much is immediately apparent. The cobblestone roads have been paved and repaved over and over again, the buildings are weathered and there’s a variety of architectural styles to them, not to mention all of the plant life creeping up through any available crack. Hooded oil lanterns hang from poles on the larger intersections, providing dim light and casting long shadows. Percival can hear the footsteps of the occasional guard patrol but Trinket gets them unerringly around the city such that they never quite run into one. Two giggling teenagers dart by them at one point, flushed and happy. They wave at Trinket as they go and he huffs at them, but he doesn’t stop moving and neither do they.

It’s a lovely city, if he’s being honest. Quaint and quiet, but lovely. It’s a well-lived in city with history - as he well knows since he spent the past week learning about it. Percival can easily see himself enjoying his time here, short as it may be. It’s very different from what he’s used to but it’s… pleasant.

Although Trinket’s wandering seems intended to avoid the guard patrols, it also seems to be leading somewhere in particular. Percival discovers where when they step into a large town square, dimly lit and quiet but ringed by shops that would have been bustling earlier in the day. The center of the square is dominated by a massive tree that, curiously, Percival can’t determine the species of. The tree is tall with thick branches that curve out and upwards as though reaching for something. It’s in full bloom and there are small bottles containing magical lights strung through its inner branches that make the entire tree seem to glow from within.

Percival has a hand on the trunk of the tree before he even realizes he crossed the town square.

This, _this_ is familiar.

It must be the Sun Tree he’d read about, supposedly planted by Pelor when the town was founded. He’d assumed the story was just an old myth but the trunk is warm under his touch and feels vibrantly alive in a way that most plants don’t. Magic trees are everywhere in the Feywild but this isn’t the Feywild. To find one here in such a mundane setting is breathtaking.

“My friend, my friend, what are you doing in a place like this?” Percival breathes out quietly.

There’s a soft, wordless hum in the back of his mind.

“A good question, my friend.”

The voice is out loud rather than in his head and Percival turns to see two older men in evening wear (one much more colorful than the other) exiting one of the shops that surround the square. Both men have dark skin and dark hair graying at the temples, but one has very short hair and is lean and fit, while the other is pleasantly plump and has long hair with a gentle curl and beads and charms woven into it. Both are smiling warmly at him and the shop they’re leaving has a sign outside with a stylized unicorn head on it and elegant purple words that read “Gilmore’s Glorious Goods.”

Ephraim prowls out of the shadows with a low snarl, but Trinket sits back on his haunches and cuffs her gently with one big paw. The two men never lose their smiles, but the leaner one tracks Ephraim with his eyes until she disappears again into Percival’s own shadow.

Percival puts on his most charming look and says, “Forgive me, I was just exploring the town - fascinating place - and it’s easier for my companion if we don’t do it during the day time.”

The one wearing the more gaudy evening gown laughs at him. “Yes, I can imagine. The Shadowfell is entirely without light is it not? I would think even the nights here are more well lit than a shadow mastiff might care for.”

Percival considers the bandana in his pocket and is forced to agree. “You’re right, but unfortunately I’ve yet to hit on a good solution for that.”

“You’re a clever man,” says the lean one. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Ah. They’re people who believe they know him. That complicates things.

“I don’t believe I caught your names?” Percival asks.

Their smiles don’t waver even a fraction. The one with charms in his hair gives an ostentatious bow and it makes them jangle softly. “Shaun Gilmore, proprietor of Gilmore’s Glorious Goods, at your service.”

The other one gives his companion a fond but exasperated look and dips into a shorter but still polite bow. “Jarrett Howarth, former Captain of the Whitestone guard. Now retired.”

Percival focuses in on him. “Jarrett Howarth? I believe Lady Cassandra mentioned you in passing as a Duke on her council?”

Jarrett colors slightly. “Ah, yes. I feel I did more for this town as a Captain than I do now as a Duke, but that is true. Feel free to disregard that title.”

“If it pleases you,” Percival says with a respectful nod. “Pardon my assumption but I believe you already know my name?”

“We do,” says Shaun. “Vox Machina tells me you prefer Percival these days.”

“It _is_ my name.”

Shaun waves his hand, still smiling brightly. “Of course it is! But names can change over time. For example, my last name wasn’t always Gilmore. But a name is whatever you want it to be, so if you wish to be called Percival, then Percival it is.”

Percival rocks back on his heels a bit, feeling genuinely touched. Shaun is the first person besides Cassandra who hasn’t reacted with stiffness at the very least in regards to calling him by his proper name. “Thank you.”

“Have you been enjoying the city, Percival?” Jarrett asks.

“This is the first time I’ve been out of the castle, actually. It’s a fascinating city, as I said.” Percival gestures to the buildings circling the square and adds, “I can tell there’s a lot of history here just based on the variety of building styles and yet it all blends together rather well in an aesthetic sense.”

“Whitestone’s residents are a firmly rooted lot,” Shaun agrees. “This is home and they stay here, through the good and the bad, and they endure.”

“You say ‘they.’ Are you not a resident?”

“Oh he is,” Jarrett says with a chuckle. “He has stores in other cities that he travels around to but he always comes back here at the end of the day. Neither of us are natives here, but Whitestone’s been good to us.”

Shaun nods. “And we try to be good to Whitestone in turn. Speaking of which, I may have a thought for your companion.”

Percival leans forward with interest. “Do you?”

“It was just a passing thought but there’s a very simple magical item I’ve had commissioned from me by those with poor night vision before. They’re simple goggles that provide darkvision to the wearer. Now obviously, a shadow mastiff doesn’t require anything to enhance its darkvision, but it would be simple enough to place the opposite sort of enchantment on a pair of goggles.”

“That’d be marvelous,” Percival says honestly. “Is that something you can create quickly?”

Shaun taps his chin, considering. “It would be if I had the base materials - namely a pair of goggles. I could ask around town and see if any of the smiths have a spare pair of them, but I doubt it as a good pair is expensive. I may have to travel to another city to get some but I’d rather not leave until Vox Machina returns.”

Ephraim licks Percival’s palm. “We’ve dealt with it for this long, I’m sure we can wait a little longer.”

Jarrett straightens suddenly and snaps his fingers, “Ah, we may not have to! The workshop in the castle may have a pair of goggles.”

Percival raises an eyebrow. “There’s a workshop in the castle? Like for the airships?”

“No, no, not at all. It was for tinkering,” Jarrett clarifies. “It hasn’t been used in quite some time but I believe there was at least one pair of goggles in it.”

“Why isn’t it used anymore?”

Shaun breezes right past the question, “That’s a marvelous idea, Jarrett! In the morning, you,” he waggles a finger at Percival, “should ask Cassandra to unlock the workshop. I’m sure she’d be _delighted_ ,” he says with a gleam in his eyes.

Jarrett gives Percival a meaningful nod.

Percival is being played and he doesn’t like it. But even in the dark of night with only muted lights coming from the Sun Tree to illuminate the square, Ephraim is still pressed invisibly against the back of his legs to shield her eyes from the light.

“I’ll be sure to ask her, then,” Percival concedes.

“Phenomenal,” Shaun says happily. “Perhaps next time we speak, it will be at a more reasonable hour?”

Percival shrugs noncommittally. He’s quite fond of this time of night, honestly.

“You may wish to be heading back up to the castle, Percival,” Jarrett says, looking amused. “You may not be tired, but Trinket is an old bear and it will be quite a struggle to carry him to bed if he falls asleep out here.”

Shaun nods in agreement, “You’ll have plenty of time to explore the town later.”

“Not as much as I’d like,” Percival admits. “But I suppose that just means I’ll have to make the most of it.”

For the first time, the two men’s smiles dim somewhat. They bid him a good evening and retire back into the shop they exited. Percival can only assume they live over top of it.

Trinket gives a wide yawn and Percival decides he’s willing to pack it in for the night, if only so he doesn’t have to explain to Vex’ahlia later why he left her son sleeping in the town square. As they walk, Percival says to Ephraim, “So, goggles. Do you think you’ll look good in goggles, Ephraim?”

Ephraim barks quietly.

“Yes, I suppose it doesn’t matter much. The point is more that you’ll be able to _look_ at all.”

Ephraim barks again, tongue lolling out.

“How about we walk straight up to the castle and in through the front gate and see how loudly Kynan can yell?”

Trinket grunts in agreement and Ephraim trails after him, tail nub wagging merrily.


End file.
